Ambivalence
by Cerulean Dusk
Summary: Hermione's sixth year - Potentially a romance between Hermione and Snape, potentially just the opposite of said relationship - WIP
1. Drawing Lots

Disclaimer - which I would have neglected were it not for some well-timed advice from Depths of the Grave (thank you):

The plot and the character development in the subsequent story are the only elements there within that I can rightfully call my own; all else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Hence, she is, justifiably, a millionaire, and I will never be financed by my shameless use of her creations.

I consider fan fiction to be an author's exercise in indolence. One of the most difficult things about writing – fantasy, especially – is to create (and monitor) one's world and to make it both suitably credible and endearing. The creation of characters on top of this can be considered to be slightly less or slightly more difficult.

Although undeniably entertaining, these processes are still incredibly challenging and time consuming, and so when there are so many already-formed worlds and characters lying between a plethora of books covers in myriad bookstores, the temptation to exploit the fruits of someone else's hard labour to liberate the plot that's been rampaging around in one's skull for months is very difficult to resist.

I, therefore, would like to apologise to Mrs. Rowling for my sheer lack of willpower where her fruits were concerned.

Chapter 1: Drawing Lots

Three tiny, intensely purple pieces of wood dominated her field of vision.

Harry was holding them. "Alright, on the count of three…"

Ron and Hermione readied themselves, gulping and exhaling respectively and, as a murmured _three_ came from Harry, extended trembling hands to select one of the plum-coloured twigs Fred and George had sold them: 'Mazing Multicoloured Muggle Matches'!

The Twins had taken so many artistic liberties with their production that even the Muggle-borns found them fascinating.

Ron whooped as the largest found its way into his palm. Harry shot Hermione a wicked grin, cradling his lengthier stick as a mother would her firstborn child.

Their sticks then promptly _detonated_ – without provocation – into copious amounts of flame.

As the two boys hopped around in indignant agony, hands flapping, moaning about the prospective damages to their Quidditch abilities, all Hermione could think about was how, at this moment, scorched hands were largely preferable to what the little calamity in her hands entailed.

This notion was underlined by the fact that the scorch marks on the aforementioned hands – and apparently all related pain – vanished fifteen seconds later.

As the two newly healed Quidditch enthusiasts rounded on her, smiling jovially, all righteous anger forgotten, Hermione stared mutinously at her scrawny piece of violet wood and felt her stomach sink lower than was humanly possible.

Ron's voice trembled with suppressed mirth. "So we'll just nip down to the kitchens…"

She scowled. "Shut. Up."

He snickered as Harry continued, all innocence, from where Ron had left off. "'Hermione, we're just making sure we've got the plan _straight."_

_Glare._

"So, as Ron was saying, we'll pay the House Elves a visit while _you_ dash down to Snape's store room and grab the rest of the ingredients." He smiled, a mockery of benevolence. "We'll meet back here in, oh, say, half an hour?"

She glowered at the two of them through the now-infinitesimal slits that were her eyes, summoned all the dignity she could muster, snatched the proffered silvery cloak from Harry's hands, and stalked out of the common room, pausing to lob her still flame-free match in the direction of Ron's head.

The resulting furious yelp and the smell of scorched hair that wafted through the portrait hole after her instigated a slight rallying of forces where her stomach's altitude was concerned.

As she stood, however, _alone_, a few feet from Snape's door, in the murky shadows of the cold, _dark _dungeon corridor, her stomach lost all semblance of control and promptly plummeted out of existence.

_Couldn't we do this some other time?_ A wheedling, _most_ un-Gryffindor-like voice pleaded with her.

The part of her that had most influenced the Sorting Hat responded with a sneer. _When? The **next** time Dumbledore's conveniently away on Ministry business? Get a grip Granger._

The wheedler speedily abdicated all control to the Lioness and Hermione slipped quietly forward, turned the handle_ very _slowly, and opened Snape's door.

Shadowy.

_Very_ shadowy.

But visibly and blissfully _empty_.

Exhaling in relief, Hermione crept across the room towards Snape's storeroom - which was unlocked.

_What?! _How

_It's **open**. Don't complain._

Breaking through _any_ of Snape's defences – although the pure, undiluted academic challenge did hold undeniable appeal – had the potential to result in an extraordinarily dramatic and public failure.

She slipped into the walk-in cupboard, closed the door behind her, let some of her fear ebb into curiosity and, with a murmured _lumos_, began to explore.

The last time Hermione had been among these hallowed shelves, she'd been under a Filibuster-induced time limit. Now, however, with Snape apparently elsewhere, she took the time to let her eyes drink in sheer excess of potential potion surrounding her.

It was, considering who owned the shelves, rather like being offered a glimpse into a rather significant part of his soul.

_If he even **has** one…_ Ron's voice slipped through her thoughts.

She grinned and got down to business.

Snape was meticulous.

Boxes and sachets organised by category, and then alphabetically. Assortments of vials and packages grouped together, catalogued into assemblages for some of the more familiar potions. Whole sections for set aside for his colleagues' needs. Ingredients – bottled, packaged, wrapped, parcelled – organised by level of potency or fatality, frequency of usage, value, rarity…

Suddenly, the thought of Harry and Ron chatting with subservient House Elves and stuffing themselves silly with pastries and other ridiculously unwholesome foods wasn't inciting the same amounts of resentment and anger that it had been moments ago.

This impromptu glance into Snape's psyche – coupled with the sight of all the crystalline, multi-coloured, sheer bottled _learning_ – was making her a little giddy.

_And while we're on the subject of learning…_

_The potion!_

_Get the ingredients before Snape comes to crash your little intellectual party, stupid._

Hermione took herself firmly in hand and carefully pilfered two green vials filled with a filmy transparent liquid, one very well sealed jar, and a bushel of a vine-like plant that somehow managed to be simultaneously brittle _and _slimy. Frowning at the fragility of the emerald bottles, she murmured a quick glass-strengthening charm and secreted jar, bushel, and vials into a cloth bad she'd brought along.

She'd just settled down to do some very serious prying when she heard the crash.

**_Oh_**_ no._

The sound of the door swinging shut behind someone and of a stool continuing on its clattering journey across the dungeon floor sent her newly elevated stomach on its second journey that night.

Whispering "_nox"_ like some frantic mantra, she snatched the cloak from where it had slipped to the floor, whirled it over her shoulders and stuffed the incriminating bag into her pocket. The cupboard subsided into darkness as the sound of laboured breathing and a quickly stifled groan came from the adjacent room.

Hermione's eyes widened. She pressed herself into what seemed to be the least frequented corner of the cupboard, sunk into a crouch, and took extremely deep breaths.

One minute passed.

Two.

Five.

_Surely he's gone…_

She closed her eyes and, very slowly, attempted to stand…

And then _flung_ herself back onto the floor, making a serious effort to do without oxygen, as the door to the supply cupboard swung swiftly and silently open.

_Oh god._

If she made it out of the dungeons alive, she'd _crucify_ Harry and Ron.

And suspend Éclairs inches from their mouths as they bled to death.

A drawer opened. A whiff of earthy scent. A clink of bottles. A swirl of robes against her hand.

No sound.

She raised her head. He was gone.

More importantly, the cupboard door was open.

_The luck you're having with that door is becoming slightly unnerving._

_Who's complaining now?_

The avid percussionist who'd taken control of her cardiac muscles concluded his performance. Taking care not to brush against _anything_, she stood silently and crept slowly towards the door, pulling the cloak closely around her.

The classroom was more dimly lit than usual, a single glowing torch behind Snape the only source of illumination. He was bent over a softly simmering cauldron, a shimmering powder trickling through his fingers into a translucent indigo liquid. Hermione spared only a moment's glace for this, her eyes immediately seeking out the only escape route.

The door to the hallway was closed.

_DAMN._

The castle had its share of eccentricities, but she didn't think Snape would blame the door to his classroom apparently opening of its own accord on Hogwarts' proclivity for sentience.

She slunk silently away from the supply cupboard, keeping close to the wall, stopped a few meters from the doorway, made sure that Harry's cape was covering everything, and had just decided to take took a closer look at what Snape's potion was about when she became entirely distracted by his facial expression.

She blinked. He looked…troubled? No, that wasn't it…

Drained?

Yes, definitely a more appropriate word.

Hermione frowned. The look didn't suit him. His countenance, already overly pale, could have put the Bloody Baron to shame. The flames behind him and tendrils of hair framing his cheekbones threw the angles of his face in to sharp, shadowy relief. She pondered this as her eyes finally flickered down to the potion he was brewing…

And all feelings of concern were sharply extricated from her mind to make way for an overwhelming wave of awe.

So _this _was what being a Potions Master meant.

Granted, his talent wasn't obvious unless one knew what to look for but, as Hermione was watching him work with the wonderment Harry and Ron must have experienced as Victor Krum had paid homage to Wronski at the World Cup, she did notice, and caught her breath.

He didn't seem to be _thinking_.

There was, Hermione thought, something innately beautiful about any form art performed skilfully, and the adjective "skilful" didn't give what Snape was doing _nearly_ enough credit.

His hands, more specifically, his _fingers_ seemed to possess superfluous muscles in places where they shouldn't exist. Each seemed to be acting on completely independent directions. The speed at which he stirred was constant and effortless. Powder spilled from between his thumb and index finger as though it was being measured continuously.

_I wonder what he's brewing?_

As the last of the powder fell from Snape's fingers into the cauldron - _oh, who the hell _cares _what he's brewing; look at _how _he's doing it _– the liquid there within shimmered momentarily – _…but I'm sure I know what it is… – _and then shifted from blue to a deep, thorough ebony. _How _can_ you be thinking of _facts_ at a time like this?! _The colour change – …_colour change, what powder induces that sort of conversion in liquids? – _had been instantaneous and completely uniform, a testament to the potion's homogeny.

_Will you please – PLEASE – just let go of your internal textbook for once in your life?!_

She finally succumbed and let herself relax into artistic wonderment as Snape poured the black liquid into a simple, but unquestionably elegant silver goblet.

It was only when he raised the cup in a gesture that was almost a toast that she realised.

As he brought the glass towards his lips, she _launched _herself across room at him, an action that was, really, more based on instinct that intelligence.


	2. Under Influences

Chapter 2: Under Influences

Her stomach was getting wet; the cloth bag she'd put the ingredients in was soaked.

A small part of her expostulated in furious incredulity as she realised that the charm she'd put on the bottles must have failed. This part was promptly slaughtered in a fit of disgust by a second portion of her personality that was, apparently, slightly more competent at prioritising.

Harry's cloak and Snape's goblet lay abandoned somewhere in between the wall against which she'd been standing and where she was now, in the midst of a pile of tangled limbs, cloaks, spilled potions and broken glass.

The potential ramifications of the state and location of both potions were wiped from her mind, however, as she realised that she, in effect, had Snape _pinned_.

Her potions master was half-sitting, his back slammed against the wall, and she had landed to find herself straddling one of his legs, one of her knees dangerously close to something she'd rather not consider, while her arms had ended up on either side of his shoulders.

He looked...well..._angry _fell short.

A sort of strangled croak broke free from the confines of her throat. She pushed herself off of him and _scrambled_ for the cloak.

She reached it and threw it over her head at the exact moment that Snape managed to lurch to his feet. His eyes – the expression contained in them would have sent Neville into cardiac arrest – fixed on the spot from whence she'd vanished, his jaw clenched, and he raised his wand.

It was not, however, aimed in the same direction as his gaze.

His voice emerged into the sudden silence in a low, malevolent hiss that sent her newly recovered stomach into physically painful convulsions.

"_Occludo."_

And the door _clicked._

_Well._

That_ was smart._

"Miss Granger, aside from the fact that, in the past five minutes alone, you may have actually broken more school rules than the already spectacular quantity that you've flouted over the course of your _illustrious_, academic career – which, in your case, is saying a _fraction _more than something – the liquids that you've managed to _douse_ yourself with are currently combining to form a potent narcotic - which can be either taken orally or _absorbed through the skin_." He paused to let the silent "you're also locked in my dungeon; give up" at the end of his sentence reverberate in the still air.

Any coherent thought processes still remaining in her brain were preparing to flee _en masse_ as she fought to keep from succumbing to panic.

Hermione _hated_ panicking.

She'd devoted most of her life to Always Knowing The Answer. This standard had conferred a fairly impressive reservoir of knowledge on her, which always managed to expound methods for circumventing situations in which That Feeling could manifest itself.

Therefore, how, exactly, she could be panicking _now_ wasn't imminently clear to her; she had the cloak _and_ her wand _and _Snape didn't even know where she was. She removed her eyes from the door – they seemed to be rather attached to it – glanced at her irate potions master, and took a few warranted and silent steps to the right – just to make sure.

Hermione had been involved in greater calamities before, and she'd managed to get herself out un – or only slightly – scathed. Harry always won In The End because of his unique innate combination of personality and power, but if it wasn't for her – and Ron – he'd never _reach _the end.

She could take care of Harry, dammit, and she could take care of herself.

As compelling as this logic was, however, the escaping thought processes didn't seem to care for it, and promptly abandoned ship.

With panic finally at the helm, Hermione could only concentrate on the one thing she was certain of: Snape had lied to her.

Hermione seized on his sneering comment about the potion that now was now inducing odd tingling sensations in the skin over her stomach and had to clamp her jaws together to keep from opening her mouth to correct him.

_Who the **hell** does he think he's trying to fool?! Autorizzare **can't** combine with the potion he was about to drink! It'd be like mixing water and oil..._

_Unless..._

She almost whimpered.

Unless she'd purloined the wrong bottle.

Unless, in her potions-cupboard induced excitement, she'd made off with a koritsu infusion instead of the autorizzare liquid.

Koritsu. Which was stored in _crystal_, due to the fact that it dissolved most other common storage mediums.

Which would explain why the _glass-strengthening_ charm she'd used hadn't worked.

Koritsu.

Which, aside from being _extremely_ compatible with Snape's potion, invariably induced _hysteria _when it insinuated itself the bloodstream.

Which would explain the Snape-induced panic.

Speaking of Snape...

"You will be both immobilized and unconscious in _seconds_, Miss Granger."

_Not if I can help it._

_So, you've discovered how to open the door – without him seeing – before you're reduced to a quivering, unconscious blob, then?_

_Not helping._

_Well **do** something! He's getting **closer** in case you hadn't noticed._

_Oh, god, I can't, I can't... it's... getting a little hard to..._

**_Granger_**_, you are **not** going to wimp out on me now. Come on. Stop panicking and Stay. Awake._

_I can't... please..._

_DO SOMETHING._

_I..._

The world wouldn't stop _moving_. Or, maybe her eyes were repositioning themselves.

"_Plene latito_... _mei corpus_."

_...do I really sound like that?_

An overwhelming lack of sensation spread over her entire being, along with the strange feeling that the world had disengaged her.


	3. Resisting Compulsions

Chapter 3: Resisting Compulsions

Snape froze as an invisibility cloak became suddenly and dreadfully discernible - in the exact spot whence Hermione's voice had murmured the incantation - and dropped listlessly to the ground.

_That insufferable **idiot**. What the hell has she done?_

His feet were already carrying him towards the cloak.

_And just where had she managed to learn _plene latito

He clenched his jaw contemptuously; he'd have thought that the required reading for spells like _that_ would be found in much lower places than her high horse would care to transport her.

_Plene latito _was as effective as an invisibility cloak if one wanted something concealed - more so, as it effectively made it impossible to sense that something in any way. But it also had the potentially nasty side effect of making the something intangible. _Plene latito_ was used on living as often as it was used on the inanimate, and, for the living, being under its influence called for _practice_. As did its casting.

The countless possible effects of a faulty _plene latito _on a human being were... dissuading.

Snape snatched up the fallen silvery cloak and ran a hand over his face in total frustration as a set of school robes, a pair of shoes, a wand, and a sac of potion ingredients were revealed to be underneath it. Unless one modified the incantation to include their belongings, one's belongings were not included in ethereality.

_She's insubstantial._

_Well of course she is. Heaven **forbid** such a trivial thing as severe intoxication get in the way of Hermione Granger casting a perfect charm._

Snape, the second person that night to be at an uncharacteristic loss for an answer in the dungeons, straightened with a stifled groan and let the cloak fall to the ground again. There were only two foreseeable consequences to the girl's utterlyinane course of action.

On the one hand, she'd cast the spell correctly and was now a technically safe but unconscious ghost. In this instance, Snape could look up _plene latito_'s counter-charm and perform it.

If he managed to establish some avenue of communication with her.

And if she listened to his instructions.

And if she had enough sense to remain in the dungeons upon her return to consciousness.

And if, on the other hand, she'd cast the spell as her mind was succumbing to potion-induced unconsciousness and delirium and - despite the accurately recited Latin and her seeming dearth of physical properties - had botched one its many crucial elements, she could now be in serious mental or physical danger, unconscious, and completely inaccessible.

Snape glowered down at the cloak and fought the urge to shred it and every one of its student-owned counterparts into a million pieces. This entire disaster was, he decided, its fault.

_So it was the cloak that caused Miss Granger to vanish?_

_She wouldn't have dared come here tonight without it. Invisibility cloaks used to be priceless rarities. Now they're schoolboy toys. It's disgusting._

_She'd have found a way. The three of them would have developed appropriate camouflage in their first year and you know it._

_Charms are **detectable**. I still would have caught her before she got herself into my storeroom. If she hadn't managed to get into my storeroom, she wouldn't have been able to pilfer the Koritsu, and therefore she would never have been in placed in a position to **spatter** herself with dangerous liquids. She, therefore, would have been in her right mind when I apprehended her - not developing potion-induced hysterics – and would have been sensible enough to realise the senselessness of such a drastic course of escape._

_Oh, so you **apprehended** her, then? It seemed to me that she chose to reveal herself. Stop trying to justify what's unjustifiable; you didn't check for any Detectably Charmed Students tonight. And where were all your usual defences? The wards, the magical locks on the storeroom, the sensory charms? You're not going to blame this on invisibility cloaks; students will break rules with or without them, and tonight, you know perfectly well that you wouldn't have caught a wandless **Longbottom** if he'd chosen to come a-thieving. You made – and almost drank – that stupid potion in circumstances that you inflicted upon yourself. Anyone could have seen you and recognised what you were doing, and you're angry that Ms. Granger did so and, not only stopped you from drinking it, but managed to harm herself in the process. You haven't forgotten the wards and the protective measures on this classroom in **years**, Severus._

_I hadn't made that particular potion in years. The… absentmindedness and the craving for the potion are, regrettably, symptoms of the same state of mind._

_It's been a while since that particular mentality has surfaced... What did Voldemort do to you that, this time, the potion was the only possible resort?_

_Miss Granger needs embodying. I have no time to waste analysing a choice that I've already made. Shut up and let me work._

Snape shook himself out of contemplation and crouched to scoop up what Miss Granger had left on his dungeon floor.

The cloak he enclosed in the confines of his storeroom along with her plundered ingredients, feeling a deep sensation of pleasure as the thing slithered into a trunk containing similarly acquired student possessions.

He dumped her clothing and shoes onto the counter unceremoniously and then turned his attention to her wand. After contemplating it for a long moment, he placed it carefully on his desk, paused, turned to scribble a message onto the blackboard and then swept from the dungeons.

Half an hour later, two leather-bound books sat, fully perused, on the side of his desk and beside them where a quill, a cauldron, and a jar containing a spider, all arranged along side of Miss Granger's wand in a line, all a twinkling shade of ghostly grey.

Severus Snape exhaled slowly and settled back in his chair to wait.

From the author: I have reviews. This surprised me and then proceeded to induce a pleasant sort of "warm and fuzzy feeling" in the depths of my stomach that made me want to shriek or squeal girlishly into a pillow. I managed to retain my dignity (with difficulty), however, and simply grinned like an idiot.

For the next two days.

Thank you for both the giddiness and the criticism, it makes updating remarkably more entertaining and rewarding.

rickfan37 - That particular powder scene was one of the stimuli that incited me to write a Snape fic. The image was burning a literary hole in my head. Also, the story's rating is subject to change, however, having read a few of the sorts of stories you described, I consider myself unqualified and ill-equipped (in other words, I'm too bloody scared) to do such a rating-changing scene justice. At the moment.

Wonk - Do you know how to speak/write Latin? If so, if you notice any... inaccuracies, _please _feel free to drop me a hint or two. My knowledge is garnered from various online dictionaries.

Tevkins - Is there anything in particular that caused the confusion? I don't have a beta yet, and so am relying on my own contemptible editing skills. Speaking of which...

I'm looking for a beta. If you're interested, know anyone who would be interested, or know of a place where interested betas can be found, please let me know.


	4. Learning Concepts

From the Author: To anyone who may be following this story, I apologise profusely for the large period of time that has elapsed since the completion of Chapter Three.

To anyone who is not currently following this story but may be contemplating doing so in the future, I apologize in advance for any forthcoming update lapses. I will, from this point forward, make an attempt at bimonthly updates at the very least.

In my defence, I was struck down by a particularly virulent cold virus, then had to deal with the ensuing amount of work that piled up during the attack of the aforementioned virus, then had to write Chapter Four, and then had to send it to…

My beta.

Thank you to fadingfaze for volunteering to deal with my attempts at grammar and plot, and thank you to the rest of you for the reviews.

Wonk: Thank you. Additionally, to yourself and the others who speculated on the inevitable Hermione nudity, she _will_ find herself lacking in the clothing department. Magic is finicky; an intangibility spell directed at one's body does not include one's clothes. The aforementioned spell, however, also involves invisibility.

Tevkins: bows in return My thanks – and apologies for taking such liberties with the concept of writing more "soon." I'm, incidentally, going to provide word translations at chapter conclusions. Out of curiosity, what did you think Snape was trying to drink originally?

Chapter 4: Learning Concepts

Gravity, Hermione thought, didn't seem to be working very well.

No, on second thought, it seemed to have stopped working altogether.

And she seemed to have lost the capacity to move. In every respect.

And then there was the intensive cold. And the fact that there seemed to be nothing _between_ her and the cold. Her sense of touch - although it too had jumped on the Let's Act Oddly bandwagon - was letting her know, loud and clear, that she was sitting on a cold stone floor entirely _au natural_.

More to the point, the cold actually seemed to be _inside_ of her body.

Hermione frowned; her mind was making a momentous effort to engender a certain fact, but that fact was stubbornly refusing to make itself known, and was still hovering in the realm of mental inaccessibility. She'd worry about it later.

She felt as though she'd been sleeping for a very long time, and that it was taking her an extraordinarily long time to wake up. Everything was _hazy_. Her eyes were refusing to register anything except a mass of colourful blurs, blobs, smears, and smudges.

She grabbed at the counter to hoist herself unstably upwards.

Or, rather, she made an attempt to.

_Air_, at least, didn't change. Its texture was, excluding the effects of a breeze, agreeably invariable. The feeling of a _potions counter_ permeating the entirety of her hand, however, brought her present circumstances from the realm of Abnormality to that of Mind-Numbing Terror.

It also sped up the awakening process considerably.

Hermione shrieked, wrenched herself backwards, and then realised that she'd forgotten _how_ to wrench. Her violent shove at the counter should have sent her flying towards the ground, limbs at anomalous angles to the rest of her. Instead, the counter had merely allowed her to sink her arm into its depth _à nouveau_ - up to the elbow this time - and instead of hurtling towards the floor, her body had merely _wafted_ a few inches back. In an irritatingly complacent manner.

_Damn_, thought Hermione, and then froze in shock as the wave of temporarily abated memory _finally _cascaded over her.

She decided, upon reconsideration, that profanity didn't quite cover it.

And she immediately devoted all her attention to forcing her eyes to function normally. Time would be devoted to the movement aspect of things when she could See What Was Going On.

_Oh my god, oh my god, oh m-_

_Christ. Shut up._

_I'm in Snape's dungeon. **Naked**._

_I **cannot** believe that, at the moment, that's your most pressing concern._

_For all I know, he could be standing two feet from me!_

_Right, because Snape obviously has nothing better to do with his time than watch sixth-year, Gryffindor prefects attempt to manoeuvre themselves around his dungeon in a state of dishabille._

_Oh god, o-_

_Hermione, what was the last spell you cast?_

Plene latito_ - oh, right…he can't see me._

_Would you **please** calm down?_

_Naked…_

_C'mon. Deep breaths now._

Hermione, for lack of a better alternative, proceeded to _blink _rapidly until the last traces of _whatever _it was that the Koritsu infusion and Snape's potion had combined to form dissipated from her internal systems and the dungeon gradually made its consequent way into focus.

Whereupon four things made themselves readily apparent.

One, the invisibility cloak was no longer on the dungeon floor.

Two, the potion that Snape had been about to drink, however, still was. The portion of it that hadn't _drenched _her had formed an incongruous splash of a puddle across the dungeon's stones.

Three, Snape looked as though he would be furious with her for the rest of his life

And four, her wand was _gone_.

Snape's desk was sparkling in her peripheral vision.

Hermione focused on it, and her heart leapt into her throat as her eyes registered thirteen and a half inches of previously fawn-coloured pine _twinkling_ at her.

_What the **hell**_ _did he do to it?!_

She took a furious step towards his desk, when she was arrested both by the sight of Snape's blackboard, and the fact that she'd also forgotten how to step furiously.

He'd left her a message.

_Miss Granger,_

_When you regain consciousness you are not, under any circumstances, to leave this room. When you are able to, proceed to my desk and collect your wand. You will practise _plene latito's_ counter spell on the items on my desk, and, if I am convinced that you are capable of performing the charm, you may do so upon yourself._

Hermione's features arranged themselves into a scowl. She didn't exactly care for the options that that course of action left her with, but while her wand remained that telltale shade of grey, there was no way she could get at it without Snape noticing.

Unless she could deduce the spell he'd used on her wand and its silvery companions, reverse it's effects, and then plene latito her wand into invisible rather than smoky intangibility.

_And manage it all before Snape has the chance to interfere?_

_Well then you come up with something. I, for one, don't particularly want to be stuck in a dungeon with one irate and, at the moment, palpably unbalanced professor, who I technically just **attacked**._

_You have yourself a point. Not the first time you've attacked him, either, is it?_

_That was under **completely** different circumstances! Besides, I wasn't the only one-_

_Well, considering the situation **this** time round, he may well be grateful._

_Does he **look** grateful to you?!_

_Of course not. He looks like he's about to savage the next living creature who comes within two meters of him and **breathes** incorrectly. But this is Snape we're talking about. That could be what he looks like when he's gratified._

_You're insane. It doesn't matter what sort of substances he was planning to imbibe or inflict upon his system, I had and have no right to stop him from doing so._

_Honestly, I think any human being with a conscience has the right to **attempt** to save a life if they're placed in a position to do so._

_It wasn't his **life** that he was putting in danger, it was his **mind**-_

_A fine line, particularly for him-_

_And I am **not **going to waste my time debating the ethics of self-destruction and other related topics right now. Do you have a better plan, or not?_

_…not._

_Fine. Then shut up and let me research._

Hermione stepped towards Snape's desk.

And failed move. Again.

Occasionally, complete imperceptibility has its uses, such as when one is faced with such tasks as spying, or thieving.

Or when one is extremely frustrated or infuriated.

And… as there was _no _possibility that _anyone _would catch her in such a moment of uncharacteristic, emotional lack of control, Hermione proceeded to succumb to a brief but virile apoplectic fit.

There was, she decided, something downright satisfactory about screaming and yelling two meters from Snape, in his dungeons, without him knowing about it. And it also served to abate her anger – at Snape and at herself – and relieve most of the feelings of pent-up stress and panic.

She exhaled, shot her perpetually petulant potions professor a wicked smile and then set herself down to the serious business of learning to move again.

After a brief episode of experimentation, during which she came to the conclusion that ghosts _thought_ rather than propelled themselves in motion, she made her way unsteadily over to the books on the edge of Snape's desk...

And proceeded to stare at their spines for the next two minutes, wondering how the hell she was supposed to open the damn things.

After the fourth time she'd unconsciously extended a hand to turn the cover of the top volume and ended up with her fingers plunged into paper, Hermione gave up.

She'd never heard of the spell Snape had used, the books' titles were illuminating _absolutely_ nothing. She was just going to have to grab the damn wand, _plene latito_ it the _second_ she had it in her hand, and _book it _before Snape could establish where she was.

Hermione wafted herself towards Snape's desk, glanced at him edgily and positioned herself directly in front of her wand.

She lowered her fingers to it at a snail's pace, to be sure it wouldn't move an _iota_ when she touched it.

Her fingers settled on top of it without passing _through_ and she exhaled, relieved; she wouldn't have put it past Snape to leave her a deceptive message about the effects of the spell he'd used.

After letting her eyes dart over him one final time to ascertain that he hadn't noticed anything, she swallowed and focused her attention on her wand, keeping her voice clear.

"_Plene Latito_, _mei _wand."

The wand turned back into it's normal self - to her eyes. Not waiting to ascertain whether it had disappeared to Snape's, she snatched it up and shot herself towards the middle of the classroom with a thought, shuddering as Snape's desk _glided_ through her insides.

"_Miss Granger_."

Her wand _had_ apparently vanished from sight.

How he managed to convey such a potent impression of lethal anger and threat by means of _lowering_ his voice rather than raising it was beyond her.

She watched in disbelief as he actually managed to _loom_ to his feet.

_Ignore him, ignore him, ignore him. Don't look at him. Just go._

_But, Harry's cloak-_

_MOVE._

_It's-_

_Did you, or did you not see him Draw. His. Wand? Get your stuff and **run**._

Hermione decided that the cloak could bloody well wait.

A _plene latito_ and an _accio_ later she stood with her previously solid belongings in one hand and her wand in the other.

She took one terrified look at Snape, who was eyeing the dungeon with a calculating sort of ferocity, shut her eyes, and shot herself through the dungeon ceiling.

**Latin** (from 1st four chapters):

_plene_: completely, wholly, fully.

_latito_: to lie hidden, be concealed.

_mei_: my.

_corpus_: body, corpse.

_occludo_ (spell used by Snape to lock the door): to close, shut up, close off.

**Japanese** (from 1st four chapters):

Koritsu (name of the potion stolen by Hermione – accidentally): isolation, helplessness.

**Italian** (from the 1st four chapters):

Autorizzare (name of the potion that Hermione meant to steal): to give permission for, authorize.


	5. Experiencing Irony

Chapter 5: Experiencing Irony

If she hadn't been quite so eager to revert to corporeality, her life would never have become so complicated.

At the time, however, the thought of remaining insubstantial for one moment longer had been tantamount to torture, and so the moment she shot through her chamber floor, content in the knowledge that Pavarti and Lavender were spending the night in other more interesting (a.k.a. _male_) beds, she dropped her bundle of clothing and shoes, – which remained suspended in midair – pointed her wand at herself, and panted, "_Plene patesco mei corpus necnon _wand!"

A small gust of air rushed away from every surface of her body and she was suddenly standing undressed, but blissfully tangible. She exhaled in shaky, sweet _relief_ and –

"_Hermione?!_"

A strangled, all too _male _voice croaked from behind her and shattered the evanescent peace. She whirled round in alarm.

To her absolute horror, Harry and Ron leapt to their feet – and into her field of vision. They proceeded to gape at her with stunned, un-for the moment-abashed adolescent incredulity. Her jaw dropped as every millimetre of blood in her body raced to her cheeks.

They stared openly at each other in echoic, remorseless silence for five _long _seconds.

"You're not supposed to be in here!" The righteous anger that she'd meant to infuse her voice with came out shrill and incensed.

Ron could only mouth at her soundlessly. He looked rather like a guppy.

Harrylooked as though he'd like to run himself through with whatever implement was nearest and most convenient. "You… you didn't come back and… Hermione, it's been _hours_. We were worried and…" He winced, trailing off. He seemed to be finding it difficult to look at her.

Ron, on the other hand, couldn't seem to stop. Hermione staggered backwards and yanked a sheet off of her bed.

As she fumbled ineptly to wrap it round herself, Ron seemed to come to what remained of his senses, yelped, and stumbled in his haste to turn his back, dragging Harry with him.

Hermione took several deep breaths, and allowed her cardiac system to decelerate her heartbeat and force most of the blood in her cheeks back into the regions of her body it belonged and. "I'll just… get my clothes back then."

The boys shifted their feet uncomfortably in response.

Hermione shut her eyes in mortification and dived at her dresser.

Vehemently.

In her struggle to find clothing, she dropped the sheet. However, as Harry and Ron probably wouldn't have turned around to save her life, this really wasn't much of a concern.

"What spell were you using?" Harry spoke with his back turned, making a strained effort to drive out the unnerving silence. He sounded slightly impressed and slightly reproachful. "You weren't on the map."

**_That's_** _why they were so worried._

"_Plene latito_," she croaked. "It makes a person – or an object – essentially indiscernible; it's impossible to see, smell, feel, hear, or even taste anyone who's had _plene latito _cast on them." _Just keep talking._ _You're defining a charm. Just helping them with homework. Ron didn't just see you naked. _"Well, unlessyou yourself are somehow concealed as well. For instance, actual ghosts, or people who've had another intangibility spell cast on them can _interact_ with the spell's target, but they wouldn't be able to smell, hear, see, or taste them. _Plene_ _latito_'s targets can only be sensed by someone who's also indiscernible by one of the five senses, and, in such a case, the target can only be sensed by the use of the particular sense that's been made imperceptible." The familiarity of lecturing Harry and Ron – and the accumulation of clothing – was slowly calming her nerves. "This also means that the target itself cannot interact with the tangible world in _any_ way."

Harry sounded slightly awed, and slightly concerned. "So… say I'd been invisible…"

"Then you'd have been able to see me, yes, but wouldn't have been able to sense me in any other way."

Ron sounded as though he was frowning. "But then… how do you turn back? Can you do your want at the same time as you _plene _yourself?"

Hermione nodded, as redundant as the motion was, given their current positions, and tossed the discarded sheet back onto her bed. "Yes, and as p_lene latito_ has the same effect on all of its targets, you can use your wand normally for the duration of the spell, and then just use the counter spell, _plene patesco_, to turn both yourself, and your wand back to nor… mal…" Hermione trailed off as she was engulfed by a potent sensation of dismay.

She turned around slowly.

Her wand was hovering exactly two feet from her, a sparkling shade of silver, once again.

Ron and Harry's feet shifted again in the reinstated silence. "…uh, Hermione?" Ron sounded extremely tentative.

For lack of anything articulate to say, she cleared her throat and mumbled, "Decent."

The two boys shuffled round to face her, looking perplexed.

Harry frowned at her, "What's the matt…"

Ron swore violently, catching sight of the suspended piece of smoke. "What _happened_?"

Hermione took two quick steps towards it and attempted to grab at it. She cringed as her hand passed right through it. "_Snape_. He did something to my wand when he found it. It must be some sort of intangibility spell, because I was able to touch it when I was under the effects of _plene latito_ but," she raked her fingers through her hair, "_plene patesco_ only counters _plene latito_, so I just returned it to the state it was in before _plene latito _was cast. Which means it's still under the influence of whatever Snape's spell did to it."

She looked up to see two extremely uncertain pairs of eyes. She exhaled tiredly and hopped onto her bed, motioning for the two of them to have a seat so she could explain.

The Wand Crisis seemed – somehow – to have released any residual tension in the room, and Harry clambered onto the bed after her.

_Ron_ slipped onto Lavender's bed.

_Why's **he** so shy about proximity all of a sudden?_

_It's probably just easier to talk from there…_

_Sitting on the same bed was never a problem **before**._

_Analysis **later**._

Harry had obviously overcome his shock – _Ron_, although relaxed, was still slightly pink around the edges – and The Boy Who Lived was grinning at her apologetically, his eyes dancing.

"Sorry, Hermione…"

She blushed, but laughed in spite of herself.

He continued, a trace of mischief to his tone. "Just give us some _warning _next time."

"There isn't going to _be _a next time, Harry."

"Good. If news got around that you materialise into your room undressed without checking to see that it's occupied often, we might have to start fighting off uninvited male visitors."

She flushed. So, interestingly enough, did Ron. _Curious._ Her stomach did a small sort of flip-flop – which she ignored – and she shot Harry a deprecating frown. "Oh _honestly._"

Harry grinned a request for pardon again and she, after a moment of furious inner conflict, smiled helplessly in return.

They'd come into her room out of concern, _not _because they'd wanted to see her naked.

And, after last year's persistent bouts of uncommunicative and hostile friendship and misunderstandings, being able to joke with Harry unreservedly always managed to incite giddiness and delight. Especially because of how sad he'd been for most of the summer. Because of…

_Still can't even think his name, can you?_

_I can…_

_Then **say** it._

_Fine…_

_I'm waitin–_

**_Sirius_**

_Oh bravo. **Harry's** dealing with it better than you are, Hermione._

_I'm not **dealing** with anything. And I'm sure Harry still hurts on the inside as well. It's just… healthy grief, now._

_Right…_

_Look at the expression on his face! He's **happy**. He's glad that everything's better now too._

_I guess so…_

"Did you get the ingredients?" Ron's voice broke through the glance Harry and Hermione were sharing, rather brusquely. Her insides squirmed again as she noticed the tail end of a resentful glance at Harry.

She winced. "No… and Snape has the cloak."

"_Hermione_!" Their tones and features were twin expressions of anguish.

Although she was feeling extremely remorseful about the situation, she found the speed at which they could exchange apologetic embarrassment for severe outrage slightly amusing.

She took a deep breath, and told them the whole story. After she'd finished, Harry looked rather stunned.

"So, at this moment, Snape is downstairs in the dungeon, _completely_ aware of the fact that you tried to steal ingredients from his potions cupboard."

"Yes, bu-"

"And he knows this because, after you'd stolen the ingredients, instead of simply waiting for him to leave the room so that you could leave without him noticing, you tackled him, because you thought that he was about to drink some sort of poison."

"It wasn't exactly _poiso_-"

"And then it spilled all over you, a-"

Ron interrupted, confused. "Autorizzare can make someone unconscious when it's spilled on them?"

Hermione coughed and averted her eyes to study her blanket. "Uh… it… mixed with the potion Snape was going to drink…"

Harry frowned. "But I thought you said that Autorizzare was _really_ hard to mix with stuff."

Hermione gulped. "Yeah… it is…"

_Oh, bravo. Way to sidestep._

_Of all the things I teach him, he has to remember **that**!_

_Just make something up!_

_I can't **lie**!_

_Uh, yes, you can. They have absolutely no clue what you're talking about._

_But it's **wrong**!_

_Someday, these morals of yours are going to get you into a great deal of trouble._

"Then how-"

"I didn't… exactly… manage to get the autorizzare. I sort of… stole a koritsu infusion. By accident…" Hermione looked up - after several seconds had elapsed - to see Ron goggling at her. She glowered at him. "_Don't_ say it."

Harry was grinning, in spite of everything. "Having a bit of an off night, aren't you?" He plunged back into his rundown of the night's events with vigour.

"_So_, after you _attacked_ Snape, the bottle of koritsu that you stole from his cupboard breaks, spills onto your skin with part of Snape's potion, and they mix together to form some mad potion that causes you to loose consciousness for about two dozen minutes."

"…yes."

"And _then_ you wake up, but instead of staying in the dungeon and following the orders that he left on the blackboard, you stole your wand back from under his nose, and _ran_ for it."

_Sounds pretty dense when he puts it like that, doesn't it?_

_I don't want to hear anything more out of you._

She nodded, closed her eyes, and ran a hand through her hair distractedly.

"_Why_?!" Harry almost yelled it. His voice sounded a little shrill now. "He's going to be _barking_. I mean, Snape's stupid, but you slammed him into a _wall_. I'm pretty sure he knows it was you."

Hermione was, by now, aware of the fact that she'd made more stupid decisions in the past hour than she had in her entire life. While she did feet that a good reprimanding was in order, she would have preferred to perform it herself, rather than have two adolescent boys rub her nose in her mistakes repetitively.

She exhaled and raised her eyes to glare at the pair of them. "_It was the potion_." Her teeth were practically eroding each other.

"The _potion_ made you act like that." Harry stated it flatly. Hermione had the impression that the only thing keeping his tone from outright disbelief was the fact that her current facial expression seemed to be intimidating him.

"Harry, Koritsu is an _extremely _powerful substance. It's used mainly because it induces analgia, which is an inability to feel pain, but it also has two other additional symptoms: abulia and hysteria. Abulia is… well, it's when you lack motivation - it usually manifests as an inability to make decisions. When the hysteria is coupled with the lack of motivation, your actions are, well, controlled almost entirely by your glands rather than by your brain. And, when koritsu infusion is absorbed - _poured directly over your skin, in other words_ - instead of ingested, its effects are more potent. Basically, all of your actions are based on what's happening _at the time_. There's no reflection or thought involved in your choices, and they're made quickly."

There was a pause while this information percolated slowly.

Harry looked a little browbeaten, but nodded. "Okay, but what I don't understand is why Snape didn't get you while you were unconscious. Why did he give you the chance to run? Couldn't he have just turned himself invisible, found you, and then used the counter spell on you? Why did he have to wait to let _you_ wake up and do it yourself?"

Hermione smiled wryly. "_Plene latito_ and _plene patesco_ are difficult to cast. You have to concentrate on changing every part and aspect of the spell's recipient. Witches and wizards have an innate sense of their internal selves - I think it's an ability that comes with being magical - so they are slightly easier to cast on _yourself_, but still, only with _practise_. Casting it on another human being is almost impossible unless you've had ample opportunity to study their body structure. Imagine what would happen if you forgot to change back the heart, or the lungs. Snape could have killed me."

"Wouldn't put it past him."

"Oh _honestly_, Harry. He's a teacher - not a homicidal maniac on the prowl."

Harry's eyes flashed with surprising amounts of anger, but he didn't speak, as Ron chose that moment to cut in.

"I can't _believe_ you tackled him." He was gazing at her in awe, and obviously not listening to a _word_ she was saying.

Harry snorted with laughter.

_He's talking again, I see._

_I thought I told you to shut up._

_You did. I never listen to you._

Hermione tossed her arms into the air in frustration and jumped off the bed to stand and face both of them. "There really wasn't anything else I could do; by the time I'd realised what he was about to drink, the potion was about two inches from his mouth."

Harry's laughter faded. "Yes, well, I still can't believe he'd commit suicide…"

"It wouldn't have _poisoned_ him exactly."

"Well what then?" Ron was frowning.

"It…" She paused for a moment. "You know _obliviate_?"

Ron's eyes widened, and he said, "Yeah…" a little uncertainly.

"Think like that, but… completely. The potion can be brewed to eradicate, not only memories, but things like… _socialisation_, basically. There have been documented cases where people have forgotten how to walk, talk, eat, drink… like they're infants again."

Harry spoke in a slightly odd tone. "And Snape was going to drink _that_?"

Hermione turned to look at him. A little quickly. She'd been staring at Ron. "I don't know _what_ he modified the potion to erase from his mind, but _potentially_, yes."

Harry muttered something she didn't catch, as Ron burst out with, "Well what if he was just trying to forget something that You-Know-Who did to him? You know what he said in our first class. "Foolish wand waving" and all that. He would have used a potion instead of _obliviate_. What if you jumped him for _nothing_?!"

Hermione froze for the smallest of moments, before she responded. "No, Ron, of course I didn't. Powdered Qilin horn was the final ingredient he added, which indicates that it would have been a fairly severe version of the potion."

_But you didn't know that when you threw yourself at him, did you? You came up with that explanation just now._

_I…_

_What made you so sure that he was going to hurt himself, Hermione?_

An apparition of pale, long, fingers clasped around the stem of a sterling goblet raised before eyes that were undeniably glittering with some sort of final farewell flashed through her mind before she was able to force it out.

Ron was frowning at her.

Not wanting him to realise how much of her decision to lunge at Snape had been based on her analysis of his facial expression rather than the potion ingredients, she decided to experiment with something.

She smiled at him.

A curve of the lips that wasn't _quite_ platonic anymore.

His eyes jerked to hers in shock, and their gazes met and _held_ with a not-inconsiderable spark of chemistry.

_Well **that** certainly distracted him. My congratulations._

_Oh will you Shut. Up._

Harry seemed to have stopped muttering to himself. He interrupted their staring contest with a cough that contained, what Hermione felt was, a gratuitous amount of amusement.

Hermione and Ron stopped staring at each other and jerked round to focus on Harry.

"Well, we obviously have two immediate problems. One, Hermione's wand is useless, and two, Snake has my cloak. I think we should tackle the wand first." He turned to Hermione with a ridiculous amount of confidence and said cheerfully, "So! What did he do to it?"

She coughed and averted her gaze. Again.

"You don't _know_?!" Ron's voice was incredulous.

This was, apparently, unacceptable

Hermione snapped back, acidly. "No, Ron, I don't. I need to go to the library."

There was a long pause.

"You want to go out _again_?!"

_You'd think that you'd said something **unreasonable**._

Hermione clenched her teeth and made a valiant effort to keep her temper. "I have potions first thing tomorrow. If I'm going to have to face Snape after what happened tonight, I'm going to do so with a fully functional wand."

_That and you can't **stand** the fact that he fooled you._

_He **wouldn't** have if I'd known the spell._

_Which is **another** thing you can't stand._

Harry shook his head, looking overwhelmed. "Hermione…"

Hermione cut him off. "Can either of you cast a Disillusionment Charm?"

Harry arched a brow, looking a bit taken aback. "Yeah, actually. Moody used one on me when the Order took me from the Dursley's to Grimmauld Place last summer. I thought it'd be sort of… useful."

Hermione nodded slowly, feeling _slightly_ apprehensive. "Uh… alright. Well, if you could just… cast it… then?"

"Hermione, for goodness sake, stop looking like I'm about to bang you over the head with a mallet. I'm not _incompetent_."

She flushed. "Sorry, Harry."

His wand rapped the top of her head smartly, and a flood of cold streamed down her body. She shivered slightly as Ron let out a gasp.

"Harry, that's _brilliant_. Can you teach me while she's in the library?"

_Hmmm. You don't get as much attention when he can't see you…_

_What exactly is that supposed to mean?!_

_Oh, nothing…_

Hermione scowled, glad that neither of the boys could see. "I'll be back in an hour."

**Latin**:

_patesco_: to be revealed.

_necnon_: and also.

From the author: I lied. My not-so-valiant attempt at bimonthly updates failed miserably. Partially due to school, and partially due to…

My first struggle with Writer's Block!

Which I've decided I don't particularly like.

In any case, I apologise for the slightly erratic nature of this chapter. I'm still not happy with it, so it may be re-written when, as Kaz814 said, my muse decides that I'm worthy of her attention once more.

I think, in the course of my absence, I lost touch with my ever-faithful beta. Fadingfaze, if you're out there, could you let me know?

Subtilior: I apologise for the excess of P's. Alliterations can be so tempting at times.

Anonymous & Campy Capybara: Thank you so much for the constructive criticism. Reviews like yours are my favourite kind. Helpful, without being hurtful. I hope I managed, however unsubtly, to address all of your questions.


	6. Accepting Consequences

Chapter 6: Accepting Consequences

Hermione was staring at the spines of "Developed Concealment and Camouflage," and "Death: Variations on a Theme," for the second time that night. This time, however, instead of sitting unhelpfully on Snape's desk, the books were on a shelf in the Hogwarts library.

_And _she could touch them.

This shelf was to be found, inevitably, in the restricted section, although this was not what was causing Hermione's hesitation. She'd received yearlong access to all areas of the library from Professor McGonagall due to a long-term, extra credit project in transfiguration.

Because Hermione would, as the professor had phrased it, with the slightest hint of warning in her tone, "Never abuse the privilege."

Think McGonagall's still gonna think that way after Snape tells her what he caught her favourite Gryffindor prefect doing?

Hermione's stomach tied itself into a rather complicated knot. _I'm not thinking about that until my wand's working again._

_There's that famous Gryffindor courage shining through._

_I prefer to think it of it as the Gryffindor ability to prioritize._

_That, my dear, would be the Ravenclaw in you. Or would it be the Slytherin?_

_I don't know what you're talking about._

_Right. Of course. What was that you were saying about prioritizing?_

Herimone yanked the books off the shelf with more force than was strictly necessary. Thirty seconds later she was seated at the table that she knew offered the clearest view of the library's only entrance with both books spread out in front of her.

Spread in a fashion that looked as though they'd been left there by an unruly student who'd forgotten to clean up after himself. Hermione checked the door before she turned the pages.

"Developed Concealment and Camouflage," to her immense anxiety, did not contain any spells. Instead, it held an excess of information on the theory behind _plene latito_ and _patesco_ and other advanced concealment charms. Most of which she already knew about and none of which even remotely resembled the spell that Snape had used on her wand.

She exhaled slowly and, with another glance at the doorway, pushed it aside and opened "Death: Variations on a Theme."

A quick glance at the index told her that this one, contrastingly, had spells.

Oh, did it have spells.

However, as she scanned the list, trying to discover whether or not the one that Snape had made use of could be found in the subsequent pages, the feeling of relief that had swept over her at their presence faded fast.

Most - well, really, all - of them were rather… extra-curricular.

So extra-curricular, in fact, that Hermione found herself skipping over pages that she normally would have lingered over out of simple curiosity.

Reading selectively, she managed to narrow the search down to three spells.

_Fumidus_, the first spell, however, wouldn't work on any magical object, let alone a wand.

She was seriously considering the second, _eximo materia_, when she checked the footnotes and realised that, for some reason, its caster was required to be menstruating female.

The third, however… A charm called _funesto_.

Hermione withdrew a sheet of paper and a quill from the folds her robes and began to scribble notes.

_…permanent until the countercharm is cast…_

_…different wizards may cast the charm and the countercharm on the same object…_

_…derived from the _seminex_ charm (page 266). Their effects are similar, but, while _seminex_ is to be used on the animate, _funesto_ is restricted to inanimate objects. Henceforth, _funesto_ has none of the precautions against loss of life that _seminex

Hermione dropped her quill, her eyes widening, as a memory of a lecture that Flitwick had given their class wafted through her mind in acute tones.

_Seminex_ was a incredibly complex charm that had been formulated by a delusional witch whose husband had died and returned as a ghost to be with his wife for her remaining years. While it was generally thought that the man's return had been motivated not by bitterness, but by the fear of loosing a love that was literally eternal, his incessant presence, ironically, had destroyed his wife's sanity.

_Seminex_, essentially, caused the living to become ghosts - without dieing.

The witch, unfortunately, had not thought to fabricate a countercharm before she cast it on herself.

Incredibly, several decades later, an industrious wizard psychiatrist had found the witch and her husband, who were still subsisting and, even more incredibly, he somehow managed to restore the witch's mental health. Her revival was such that she was able to explain what she'd managed to do to herself.

The psychiatrist had proceeded to develop a countercharm. Upon realising, however, that, even with a countercharm, _seminex_ would probably turn out to be rather unpopular, modified it to be used on the inanimate, as well as on the living. Hence _funesto_.

Which Snape had used to, technically, turn her wand into a ghost.

Hermione suppressed a flutter of panic and snatched up her quill to scribble down the instructions on how to cast the countercharm to _funesto_, which the conscientious psychiatrist had also developed.

She'd just reached the footnotes when she heard the footsteps.

And a little over five years worth of illicit midnight outings told her that they weren't Filch's.

Waves of gooseflesh broke out over her arms and legs as she shot to her feet, grabbed both the books, and dashed at the restricted section.

She'd just whispered a charm to distribute the dust evenly over the whole shelf when he swept through the doorway.

Hermione froze, her heart hammering fast enough to put a jackhammer to shame.

_How did he find me?!_

_Hermione, for the love of god. He probably came here before he went to your dormitory._

Hermione began to edge slowly - Disillusionment Charms didn't hold up to fast movement - away from the shelf and down the aisle. Her breathing seemed abnormally loud. Recklessly, she raised her wand to her throat and breathed, "_Silencio_."

_What the hell did you just do?_

_Harry and Ron can counter it when I get back._

_I suppose… you don't think he'll be able to **smell** you… do you?_

_Don't be an idiot._

She'd just reached the end of the shelf when Snape, apparently satisfied that the library was empty, strode straight at her.

He was less than two inches from her when he turned into the aisle she'd just exited.

Her breath caught in her throat and she stood frozen, hair actually fluttering slightly in the gust of air provoked by his customary swirl of robes. Her eyes followed him down the aisle where he stopped in front of the shelf containing both of the books she'd taken.

_What are you _doing_! Move!_

She exhaled sharply and, with one last glance at Snape, despite her lack of footnotes, dashed silently back to the table, grabbed up paper and quill and launched herself out the library door.

Harry and Ron, predictably, had waited up for her.

After pointing fruitlessly at her throat for a minute and watching helplessly as their baffled concern escalated into full-fledged panic, she stalked over to a notepad, scribbled _Silencio_ onto it's top page, and _hurled_ it at Harry, who immediately turned a vibrant shade of crimson and performed the countercharm in a mutter.

And then she told them what Snape had done to her wand - inciting more shock and, this time, profanity.

Ron, sporting a pair of Disillusioned legs, began striding around her dormitory in outrage. "That's _low_."

Harry looked murderous. "What if he'd made a _mistake_?! He could have _destroyed_ your wand. That's what they do when they _expel_ you! Even if he _had_ caught you stealing, the _most_ you'd get is a month-long detention or something!"

Even though they were on her side, they did tend to take things to extremes.

"Snape wouldn't have cast a spell he wasn't sure of; he's too proud. He just wanted to make sure it was something I wouldn't be able to reverse on my own." She smothered the smug smile that tried to manifest itself. "Now shut up and let me concentrate. I don't know how to _funesto_ anything to practise on, so I've got to get the countercharm right the first time."

_It seems so simple… I don't understand why Flitwick wouldn't let us study them._

_Maybe _funesto_'s more difficult than it's countercharm. Or maybe you have understand _seminex_ to understand _funesto_. Seminex is fairly complex._

_I suppose… I still don't like it._

_Well it's this or you're stuck with that stick of airborne smoke. You could always ask Snape to do it for you tomorr-_

"Could I borrow your wand, Ron?"

Ron looked nervous. "Hermione…"

"_What_, Ron?"

"Well… what if something goes wrong? You're not _used_ to my wand."

Harry, unexpectedly, dissolved into a fit of laughter.

Innocent that she was, Hermione didn't understand until she noticed that Ron's ears had gone scarlet and that he was avoiding her gaze for what felt like the millionth time that night.

That's _it_.

She clenched her teeth, snatched Ron's wand from the bed, aimed it at Harry's groin, and snarled, "_Frigus_."

Harry's laughter was cut off by an agonised yelp and he tumbled onto the bed, hands tucked between his legs.

Hermione turned to Ron with a dangerous sort of smile. "There. Works like a charm."

He gargled at her incomprehensibly.

She turned her back on him, pointed his wand in the direction of her suspended piece of smoke, and exhaled, concentrating. "Alright… _denicalis_!"

To her utter delight, her wand solidified before her eyes, and dropped to the ground with a soft, simple _whoosh_.

Hermione dashed at it, grinning helplessly. Picking it up, she pointed it at Harry and murmured. "_Foveo_."

He moaned in relief. She squealed happily and hugged her wand to her chest.

Ron chuckled and, after grinning at Hermione, looked over at Harry. "You alright?"

Harry sat up to glower at Hermione. "Never do that again."

She arched a brow delicately in his direction. "What was so _funny_, Harry?"

He coughed and got to his feet, his jaw cracking in what she thought might have been a genuine yawn. "Well, _I'm_ going to bed. Frankly, if Snape decides it's worth waking McGonagall to come and oust you from your bed, I think we'd better be innocently asleep in our dormitory. We'll figure out what to do about the potion and my cloak tomorrow."

Hermione caught his gaze, her face falling. "Harry, I'm really sorry…"

Harry smiled at her reassuringly. "It's alright. It's not like you _meant_ to give it to him. We'll consider it a challenge."

She relaxed and grinned back sheepishly. "Still… well goodnight."

Harry nodded and, with the tiniest spark of amusement in his eyes, walked out - completely neglecting to take Ron with him.

Her insides shrivelled as the door swung shut behind him, instigating a thick silence.

_Why didn't Ron leave?!_

_Do you really want me to answer that?_

_This isn't weird._

_Of course not._

_Ron and I have been alone together loads of times._

_You keep telling yourself that._

Ron, again, wasn't looking at her. At least, Hermione was pretty sure he wasn't. She wasn't looking at him either, so it was hard to tell.

Her mouth seemed to have been filled with sandpaper.

Ten seconds.

Fifteen seconds.

_Oh, this is_ **_ridiculous_**.

Hermione swallowed and opened her mouth, which proceeded to emit a sound resembling the last croak of a dieing frog, at the same time that Ron stood up and said, "_Aerrhg_ bed."

She coughed, feeling copious amounts of blood flood her cheeks. "Sorry?" Her voice was about half an octave higher than usual.

Ron swallowed and aimed something that could have been a smile in her direction. "I… uh… suppose I should be getting to bed too… Snape… and all that…"

Hermione laughed. Shrilly. "Right! Me too…" Her voice sounded desperately jovial and her smile seemed to have frozen in place. She felt like she was bearing her teeth at him.

Ron turned scarlet again and stared resolutely at the carpet. "Sorry about the… _seeing_…"

Hermione cut in, a slightly frantic edge to her voice, "Oh, no, don't worry, I didn't mind…"

Ron was giving her a panicked and totally uncertain look.

Her stomach plummeted out of existence, the pitch of her voice increasing. "Well, no, obviously I didn't _want_ you to-"

_What am I **saying**…_

Ron nodded vehemently. "No. Of course not." He chanced a glance at her facial expression, and an expression of terror proceeded to flit across his face. His voice edged slightly higher as well and he hastened to add. "Not that… well, obviously we didn't _mean_ to, but that doesn't…" His voice cracked slightly and he trailed off looking utterly distressed, swallowed, and said vehemently, "_Sorry_."

Hermione turned away to fiddle with something on her dresser, shutting her eyes in mortification and managed, "It's okay…"

"Well… see you in the morning…"

More silence.

_Turn around and say something you **prat**, he's leaving._

She took a deep breath, whirled round to look at Ron - and found him about two inches from her. They both froze, eyes the size of saucers.

"Oh… _night_." A _rodent_ had taken control of her vocal chords.

He fixed her with a cautious sort of look, but didn't move.

_What's he…_

_What do you **think** he's planning to do?_

_He is **not**._

Ron swallowed and, for an instant, seemed to be hovering slightly closer to her face. The breath caught in her throat and, after a second's frenzied deliberation, she leant towards him.

The exact moment that he started to lean back.

Oh no.

They both froze, looked at each other for one long moment, and then, unfortunately, moved simultaneously.

Their lips _collided_.

_Ow! That hur… oh…_

Ron, surprisingly, seemed to know what to do. Once contact had been established, one of his hands was suddenly in loose contact with the back of her neck and the other was resting on her hip. He brushed his lips softly over hers and then stepped back - taking the hands with him - opened his eyes, and said determinedly, "Goodnight, Hermione."

He smiled almost shyly before turning and walking, a _little_ to quickly towards the door.

**Latin**:

_fumidus_: smoky, smoke-filled

_eximo materia_: remove substance/matter

_funesto_: to defile or pollute with death

_seminex_: half-dead

_frigus_: cold

_denicalis_: releasing from death

_foveo_: to warm

From the author: Again, thank you to my reviewers. My computer is situated in a very cold part of my house, and your words have something of the effect of a radiator.

I'd also like to apologise for any typos that may have evaded my not-so-fined-toothed combing.


	7. Blissful Ignorance

Chapter 7: Blissful Ignorance

Exhausted, overwrought, and confused, Hermione had tumbled into bed after Ron's exit, deciding to Deal With It Tomorrow.

That is to say, she solidified her belongings, burned the piece of paper she'd copied the countercharm instructions onto, and destroyed every other conceivable piece of evidence pertaining to her nighttime expedition, and _then_ went to bed.

And she nonetheless woke early the next morning with an inexplicable desire to go to the library instead of heading down to the Great Hall for breakfast, as was her wont.

_Someone's avoi-ding Ro-on._

_I am **not**; I want to do some more research on __funesto and denicalis._

_You keep running your fingers over your lips, Hermione._

Hermione flinched and hastily directed the hand that had been en route for her mouth towards her pocket instead.

_Well, why **shouldn't** I be thinking of Ron?! He kissed me!_

_I never said you shouldn't be thinking of him. I just said that you were avoiding him._

_I'm allowed to avoid whoever I want to, damn it._

_Of course you are. I was merely trying to point out that **Ron** might get the wrong idea._

_Yes, well…_

Last night had been the culmination of five and a bit years of sexual tension. Ever since Ron's positively flagrant jealousy at the Yule Ball in their fourth year, it had been obvious – and, in all honesty, sort of flattering – that he… _liked_ her.

When Fleur Delacour – radiating sexual energy – had lunged at him after the second task, Hermione's fists had clenched, and she'd had to suppress a wild and unexpected impulse to launch herself at the little nymphomaniac and tear out every last strand of that _ridiculous_ hair. This, and other minor things – nervousness when they touched inadvertently and the way she sometimes treated him and Harry differently – had forced Hermione to accept that she _liked_ him too.

And, well… the kiss last night had been _nice_.

I had certainly _felt_ nice - her hands traced her lips again unconsciously – and she supposed she wouldn't mind feeling like that again, but…

It hadn't been as… _electric_ as she'd expected it to be.

_Oh give it up, Hermione. Real life doesn't provoke those sorts of feelings. You've been reading too many books. You and Ron have obviously got the lust thing going, so why don't you lower your impossibly high standards and enjoy it a little. No one really experiences the **exhilaration** all the romances talk about._

She jerked her hand back into her pocket as she entered the library and wished Madam Pince a good morning – in a hushed voice. Years of experience had taught her that Madam Pince was a great deal less stern when people were _quiet_.

Years of Hermione's incessant presence had taught Madam Pince that the girl realised this, and she nodded cordially as Hermione wandered over to the shelves devoted to Charms books.

She was in the middle of pulling "Death Charms" from the shelf when a low voice stopped her fingers dead in their tracks.

"Good morning, Irma."

_You've **got** to be kidding me._

"Severus. Good morning."

_Again?!_

Hermione suddenly found that she couldn't breath. She shoved "Death Charms" back into its place and, for no explicable reason, darted two shelves to the left and pretended to be browsing for a book relating the project involving timed charms that Flitwick had set his sixth-years.

_"Charm Delaying Techniques_," "_Charm the Day Away_," "_Make Your Time Count: An Simple Guide to Hastening Your Charms"…_

She couldn't seem to stop reading the titles.

_Don't look up. Don't look up. Pretend you haven't noticed him–_

"Miss Granger." His voice turned her name into a sneer and her insides squirmed.

Hermione turned to face him slowly. He was standing at the end of the row, flanked by shelves on both his sides, and regarding her with a glitter of malevolence in his eyes. Her eyes felt waterlogged.

"What a surprise to find you _here_."

And for some treacherous, senseless reason, her blood started to boil.

_"What a surprise to find you here." Oh. **Such** wit. Hermione's obsessed with the library. I'm going to taunt her. I must be the first person in the **world** to have noticed that she's a bookworm. I'm **so** original._

_Rrrorw. Calm down…_

Before she'd had time to exercise any control over herself, before she'd had time to _think_, Hermione raised her eyes to his, tilted her head slightly, and spoke with light innocence,

"Not really, Professor."

_Oh my god…_

Professor Snape actually stood motionless for a full three seconds before he responded in a low, menacing whisper.

"You will come with me to the Headmaster's office, Miss Granger. Now."

Hermione nodded to him politely, leisurely returned her quill and parchment to her bag, and piled her books neatly in a corner of the table before she stood.

_HERMIONE!!!_

_Yes?_

_What the hell are you doing?! This is **Snape**. Look at his eyes; they'd ignite dynamite._

_Oh. Yes. I suppose they would._

Snape wasn't even bothering to suppress his incredulity. Hermione supposed he considered the palpable fury that he was radiating to be a sufficient defence for his lapse in emotional control.

She motioned for him to lead the way. His eyes _flared_.

_I can't **believe** you're baiting him like this._

Silence hung about them like a London fog as they approached Dumbledore's stone gargoyle – "_Pepper Imps_" – and as they rotated up the spiral staircase and as Snape brought the brass doorknocker down on the polished oak door.

The Headmaster's voice sounded neutral as his door swung open. "Come in Severus, Miss Granger."

He was seated at his desk, fingers clasped on its surface. He raised one hand to motion for the pair of them to sit.

As Hermione sank into the armchair on the right, Dumbledore fixed her with a particularly penetrating gaze, and, as the final traces of her anger faded, she felt the mask of confidence that she'd managed to maintain throughout her walk with Snape flicker and vanish.

"Miss Granger, I would like you to tell me what you did last night." Dumbledore's voice was _serious_, but not exactly angry. "Professor Snape has already related his version of events to me."

_Just tell him what you told yourself last night to justify your actions. If you can convince yourself, you can convince him… Confidence can be an indispensable weapon._

To her astonishment, her attempt to remain calm succeeded.

Determined brown eyes locked with aged blue. "I used Harry's invisibility cloak to enter Professor Snape's storeroom with the intention of stealing a simple autorizzare mixture, but took a koritsu infusion accidentally." Her eyes, inexplicably, attempted to flicker in Snape's direction, but she forced them away. "When I tried to leave, Professor Snape was in the adjoining classroom."

She opened her mouth to continue honestly, but for some reason, the words wouldn't come. Her eyes made a wild dash in Snape's direction again, and she yanked them furiously back to Dumbledore. "He… apprehended me, and the koritsu infusion spilled onto my skin the process. Then I panicked, due to the effects of the infusion, and I ran."

Snape had gone very, very still. Dumbledore's eyes flitted to him momentarily before returning to Hermione, their gaze probing.

"Miss Granger…" He seemed to change his mind. "Could you explain why you attempted to steal from Professor Snape?"

_Please let him understand…_

"Professor Dumbledore, do you know what Harry and Ron got on their Potions OWLs?" Her words came out in a rush.

Dumbledore paused for the _briefest_ of moments before he responded to this apparent non sequitur. And Hermione could have sworn that his eyes had sparkled. "Acceptable, I think it was?"

Slightly reassured by the miniscule twinkle, she ploughed on, keeping her voice respectful, "Yes, and are you aware of what OWL grades students must achieve to be accepted into Professor Snape's pre-NEWT potions class?"

"Exceeds Expectations or higher?" Dumbledore turned to Snape as if for confirmation, a slight quirk to his lips. Snape nodded jerkily, his eyes burning a hole in Hermione's shoulder; she swallowed, watching him peripherally.

"Exactly." She took a deep breath. "Professor, Harry and Ron want to become Aurors when they leave Hogwarts, and even though it is a very ambitious goal," Snape snorted; she ignored him, "I still believe that Hogwarts should at least equip them to _attempt _it. Aurors are required to graduate with a minimum of five NEWTs, and the recommended subjects for four out of the five are Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, Charms, and _Potions_.

"I realise that pre-NEWT classes are not mandatory prerequisites for NEWT classes, but it is very difficult to take an NEWT class in your seventh year if you haven't taken its sixth-year pre-course. The standard sixth year potions class that Harry and Ron are in right now – because they weren't accepted into the pre-NEWT class on account of their OWL grades – isn't covering half of the things that the pre-NEWT class is. They'd be much too far behind to switch into the NEWT Potions class next year. Harry and Ron need to get an E or higher on their NEWTs to become Aurors. To do so without the experience provided by a NEWT Potions course would be impossible.

"Professor Snape is the only teacher in the school who puts a grade limit on his pre-NEWT class. All of the other professors only put the grade limits on their NEWT classes, so that the people who don't score high enough on their fifth year OWLs can re-take the tests in their sixth year to get into the NEWT classes, but can still take the pre-NEWT classes in the meantime.

"Basically, Professor Dumbledore, I don't think that Professor Snape's rule is fair. I've been helping Ron and Harry keep up with pre-NEWT Potions class by teaching them the lessons that… aren't being covered in their normal class, and some of the ingredients for the potions he sets the NEWT class are impossible to order… which is why I tried to steal the autorizzare last night."

She ended her diatribe, forcing herself not to mention the fact that she was _sure_ Snape assigned potions like the one requiring the autorizzare on _purpose_.

Dumbledore was watching her with a definite smile playing about his lips. "Miss Granger, while ostensibly wrong, makes a strong case, Severus."

Snape's lip curled. "Headmaster, I was under the impression that we'd congregated to decide on Miss Granger's punishment, _not_ to discuss the ethics of the way I choose to teach my classes."

The headmaster nodded sententiously, paused for a moment, and then spoke, with the air of a person telling a very subtle joke. "Very well, Severus, I shall allow you to choose a punishment for Miss Granger," Hermione's heart wrenched to a stop and Snape exhaled slowly, "but only if you make an alteration to your policy."

They both froze.

Dumbledore continued innocently. "I will allow you to maintain a grade limit on your pre-NEWT classes, Severus, only if you allow those students who don't score Outstanding on their OWLs a… second chance at admission. You will test them at the end of the second week of school – which will be this Friday, incidentally. If they pass this examination to your satisfaction, they will be permitted to enter your pre-NEWT class. Students after all," his eyes twinkled, "receive career counselling fairly late into fifth year, and some do not realise that a Potions NEWT will be essential to their careers until it is too late."

Snape and Hermione remained immobile. Hermione didn't know whether to celebrate or panic.

Dumbledore smiled benignly. "You may go down to breakfast, Severus. I'd like a few words with Miss Granger."

Hermione's gaze snapped to Dumbledore apprehensively, but he was still watching Snape, who stood silently and without expression and swept towards the door.

Hermione forced herself to speak before Snape left. "Professor Dumbledore?"

One white eyebrow arched very slightly. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

Snape halted and turned to watch her, making her skin crawl.

"I… when I was in Snape's dungeon, I lost Harry's invisibility cloak. Seeing as… well, seeing as I was the one breaking the rules, not Harry, I was wondering if he could have it back. I'd be willing to accept a harsher punishment."

Dumbledore considered her for a long moment, and then nodded. "Very well. Severus, you will return Harry's cloak to him."

Hermione caught sight of the expression twisting Snape features and immediately realised how very, very stupid her offer had been.

"And, Severus? When deciding on a punishment for Miss Granger, please remember that I am the only person who possesses the authority to alter her status as a Prefect or a student at this school."

_Well… at least there's that…_

_Are you kidding me? He just gets to exercise more creativity now…_

Snape nodded once, his face inscrutable again and left the office.

Dumbledore turned to Hermione, his expression kind, but serious.

"Miss Granger, I have two more questions for you before I can allow you to go to breakfast."

"Yes, sir?"

"First, may I see your wand?"

Hermione suddenly felt that her reversal of Snape's spell was not the most intelligent thing she could have done. She set it upon Dumbledore's desk nervously, but he simply stared at it for a long moment and then motioned for her to take it back.

"And secondly, you said that Snape apprehended you. You were still invisible at the time, I assume?"

Hermione swallowed. "Yes, sir…"

_Does he **know**? Or does he just mean the cloak…_

Dumbledore fixed her with eyes that seemed to bore into her head. Finally he nodded, regarding her curiously, but without his former seriousness. "Very well, Hermione."

She twitched very slightly at his use of her given name and felt absurdly warmed by the gesture. Dumbledore shot her a mischievous grin and stood, motioning for her to do the same.

She watched him curiously as he tapped once on one of the pictures behind his desk, causing the outline of a door to trace itself onto his wall. The opening that was created revealed the back of a tapestry that she knew hung in the Entrance Hall.

Dumbledore ushered her through his impromptu secret passageway – his eyes resembling twin nebulas – and they walked towards the Great Hall together. "I do not feel the need to lecture you; whatever sentence Professor Snape devises will certainly be an ample punishment, and I'm sure you've already chastised yourself sufficiently. May I advise you, however, that next time you deem a school rule to be… unjust, you talk to a teacher or myself instead of resorting to martyrdom?"

Hermione smiled slightly as they passed through the double doors. The Great Hall was filled with a few early risers, all of whom stared curiously as she and the headmaster entered.

"Thank you Professor, but you have to realise that Harry's probably the only person in this school who feels comfortable barging into your office whenever he has a problem."

Dumbledore chuckled and waved his hand. "I see, well, enjoy your breakfast, Miss Granger. The house-elves tell me that the kippers are especially good this morning."

With that, he left her by the Gryffindor table, but not before she'd seen the small flare of hurt that had manifested itself in his eyes at her words.

And even though the morning's events had progressed better than she could have dreamed, she sat down to her breakfast fighting tears.

The Great Hall filled around her, and Harry and Ron materialised by her side fifteen minutes later to find her staring morosely into a porridge bowl. The twin expressions of anxiety that spread over their features as they took in her obvious bad mood would have been amusing had she not been feeling so utterly dejected.

Ron offered her tentative smile. "…you're up early."

She snapped back thoughtlessly. "So are you."

Ron looked as though he would have liked nothing better than to turn tail and run, but, looking extremely hesitant, he said. "Great minds think alike?"

_He's trying to cheer you up…_

_Oh… that's sort of cute…_

_Ugh. _Please

Inexplicably, the beginnings of a smile hovered about her lips. "Great minds think for themselves, Ron."

Ron shot her an impish grin while he and Harry, who was now looking much more relaxed, plopped into seats opposite hers.

"_Actually_, greater minds help their lesser counterparts with their Potions homework."

Hermione rolled her eyes, smiling helplessly. "_Ron_."

_He's flirting with you…_

_He is NOT! This is _normal

_So you admit that this whole situation isn't weird then?_

_I… that wasn't fair._

_Oh come on, Hermione. You feel completely comfortable. You have absolutely nothing to worry about._

Ron _sighed_ melodramatically and turned to Harry. "She hoards her knowledge like a dragon its gold."

Hermione's lips twitched. "I'll look it over for you tonight after I'm finished mine."

Harry and Ron exchanged high fives.

_Maybe a little _too _normal._

Hermione, forcing her gaze away from Ron's smile, suddenly remembered what had happened this morning, and proceeded to recount the whole story.

"We have an exam _this Friday_?!" Harry, judging by the tone of his voice, considered this news to be apocalyptic.

"_Snape_ is deciding on your punishment? _SNAPE_?!" Ron just sounded _angry_.

Hermione exhaled, dropping her gaze back to her porridge. "I know… but I did manage to convince Dumbledore to make Snape give back the cloak."

Two mouths gaped at her, and then Harry let out a whoop and punched the air.

Ron, however, seemingly in the throes of a fit of good spirits, leaned towards her and _kissed_ her.

_(again)…_

Right smack on the lips.

Harry froze – mid-whoop – looked at Ron in astonishment, and then applied himself to his scrambled eggs with immense amounts of concentration.

_Well… it's not the most dignified way he could have brought it up but…_

Ron looked _horrified_. His skin was rapidly assuming the shade of rotten tomatoes, but he was watching her in a manner that suggested he was almost hoping for an answer.

_Just _look_ at him. He _adores_ you._

Hermione gaped at him for five long seconds, frozen in place, and then, without warning, she found herself _dissolving _into a fit of giggles.

"_Hermione_?" Ron sounded as though he was about to burst into tears.

She grinned at him. "Oh, why not?" Her voice came out a little unsteady.

Harry was watching them out of the corner of his eye, and it suddenly occurred to Hermione that Ron might not know what she was talking about.

Ron's eyes widened, "You… _really?_"

_Never mind then…_

She smiled tentatively and nodded.

He stared at her for a long moment. And then his face split in the most genuine smile she'd ever seen.

Ron got to his feet, shot round the table, pulled her up, and lowered his mouth to hers in a gesture more permanent than its predecessors.

Unfortunately, at that precise moment, three people entered the Great Hall.

The first was Professor McGonagall, whose incredulous shriek of, "Mr. Weasley! Miss Granger! What in the name of all that is good do you think you are _doing_?!" came between them with the force of two positively charged magnets, and was followed by a severe reprimand for unacceptable conduct and the removal of ten points apiece from Gryffindor.

The second and the third, to Hermione's abject horror, were Pavarti and Lavender.

From the author: To those of you who read chapters 6 and 7 and find yourself fighting the urge to castrate Ron and then lock Hermione and Snape – devoid of clothing – in a small room, I promise you that there will, at the very least, be _more_ of Snape in following chapters. And let me assure you that I haven't lost my mind – you need look no further than the title of this chapter for proof.

And again, I apologise for the inevitable typos.

And points to anyone who can find a slightly mangled Laurie R. King quote.


	8. Troubled Beginnings

Chapter 8: Troubled Beginnings

As soon as Professor McGonagall had taken her indignant leave of the Gryffindor table, Pavarti and Lavender swooped down on Hermione with the voraciousness of two ravenous owls racing for a mouse.

Harry and Ron, demonstrating surprising presence of mind, simply leapt up and ran for it. Hermione escaped three minutes later, staggering out of the Great Hall with Lavender's piercing shriek of "Oh my god, Hermione. Tell me that Ron Weasley didn't just kiss you!" ringing in her ears like a relentless mosquito.

So intense was her irritation, she was within two feet of Snape's door before it occurred to her that she hadn't formulated any sort of plan of attack.

_Hah!_

_What?_

_Plan of attack? Plan of defence more like._

_Well any sort of plan, whatever its designation._

_Ugh. Come **on**. Grow yourself some backbone. Snape would probably appreciate it._

_Are you insane? You could call it **Sycophant** house instead of Slytherin and no one would notice._

_And how many of them do you think he respects?_

_Have you **seen** how he treats Malfoy?_

_Don't tell me you're actually falling for that._

_It's not an act. He's got the highest marks in our year._

_Minutiae, my dear Hermi-_

"Miss Granger. Early. How blatantly penitent of you."

_Oh Jesus Christ._

"_And_ silent. Dear me, this is an improvement."

_Rot in hell._

_You're not going to come up with **any** sort of plan if you let him get to you like that._

Snape seemed to have materialised – in full loom – before the doorway to his office. Hermione swallowed with difficulty, assumed an expression of absolute solemnity, and expelled the first excuse that came to mind. "I didn't want you to have to waste class time…"

"So you thought you'd waste mine instead?"

_If he's not careful, his lip is going to get stuck in that curl._

Hermione suppressed any number of urges, each as unwise as it was violent. "Whichever would be least inconvenient, sir."

He sneered and then turned into his office without a backwards glance. "Come in, Miss Granger."

The door slammed automatically shut behind her with the force and sound of a small explosion. She started, in spite of herself, and saw a spasm of irritation flare across his features.

_God! I can't do **anything** right._

_Of course you can't. You're a Gryffindor – through and through._

_It's not fair. Teachers aren't **supposed** to succumb to favouritism._

_You know that's not what I meant._

Snape descended into the chair behind his desk, leaving her to hover awkwardly by the doorway, shelves of slime and dead things in jars hanging over her.

_He could at least have a **chair**._

_For who? The Bloody Baron, or Filch?_

_You have a point…_

"Your punishment, Miss Granger, will be composed of menial potions work." His tone implied a conviction that anything beyond the slicing of roots was beyond her. "You will report to the dungeons every weekday from seven until nine o'clock."

A jolt of sheer distress slashed through her body.

_Damn… that's harsh…_

_Harsh?! That's **ten hours** gone from every week._

_You're going to have to cut back on sleep to get everything done…_

_This is ridiculous. He can't be allowed!_

_Going to run to Dumbledore again?_

She stared at Snape for a long moment, unmoving, before she inclined her head stiffly. "I'll see you this evening, then, sir."

_My god, your tone was calm and everything._

_Look at him. He's **waiting** for me to break down. Well I **won't**._

Snape's eyes narrowed. "You will see me for this morning's class. Go and get out your things."

She turned towards the door, teeth clenched, before he finished his sentence, and didn't bother to close it behind her.

It, apparently, only slammed for _him_.

"I'll kill him."

Ron's vehement hiss, thankfully, didn't carry over the shrieks emanating from the overly sentient plant that was writhing in front her an hour later. Harry looked ready to abandon their second period Herbology class, march into the castle, and launch a full-fledged attack on the dungeons.

"Ron, for heaven's sake."

"But it's not fair, Hermione. You actually use that time to study."

She sighed, absent-mindedly preventing one of the plant's tentacles from removing Harry's hand with a flick of her wand. "Careful, Harry, and… I'll find a way to work around the time loss. Don't worry about it."

Harry frowned in her direction and, after a moment, seemed to deflate.

Ron frowned in her direction and, after a moment, kicked the table, making the entire crop of plants sway ominously and casting the entire class into momentary throes of panic. "Well… if you need anything, Hermione – anything at all – I'll help." He scowled mutinously. "And I'm telling Ginny to give him hell after lunch."

Harry, seemingly taken aback at Ron's utter confidence in Ginny's troublemaking abilities, frowned slightly in his direction.

Hermione's didn't bother to hide her smile, which was at least as amused as the one Ron was attempting to conceal. She met his eyes briefly, chuckled softly, and grabbed a spade to start digging.

Ron, impulsively, snatched her hand back while Harry put on gloves and moved to restrain the tentacles.

"Ron! What…"

"Hermione… I'm really sorry… if you hadn't been trying to teach us advanced potions… well…"

She smiled and squeezed his hand. "It's okay, Ron."

He squeezed back, kissed her cheek quickly, and then turned to select a trowel from a nearby table.

Harry caught her eyes and grinned. "That seemed to help."

Hermione flushed. "Help with what, Harry?"

"The bad mood that's been hanging over you since you surfaced from the dungeons."

"Yes… well… it wasn't that bad a class…"

"Hermione, Snape had to have been in a bad mood, and you're the only Gryffindor in advanced potions."

She smiled. "Not for long."

"I'll walk you down…"

She rolled her eyes, smiling involuntarily. "Ron, I know where the Potions classroom is."

Ron scowled up at the Great Hall's ceiling, ignoring his dinner. "Yeah, well, he's probably going to make you work in the deepest, most unpleasant dungeon there is."

Harry looked up from mashed potatoes, muttered, "Wouldn't put it past him," and returned to his food with vigour.

Hermione laughed and shook her head. "Don't bother, Ron." She glanced up at the sun, which was setting across the rafters. "I'd better be off."

_Uh, Hermione…_

_What?_

_Look at **Ron** you idiot._

_Oh for the love of… what's he upset about **now**?_

_You just implied that you don't want to spend every minute of every day in his company._

_But I **don't**! That's crazy!_

_That's the first week of a normal hormonal relationship._

_But…_

_Just **fix** it._

Hermione, about to stand, paused, and turned back to Ron with, what she hoped was, an endearing smile on her face. "I'll see you in the common room after I'm done?"

Ron shoved his fork – rather violently – into a pea, which was rocketed across the table and into Neville's left eye. "OW! Hey!"

"You'll have homework, won't you?"

Hermione suppressed a surge of irritation and placed her hand on Ron's shoulder. "It won't take too long."

He looked up at her a little vulnerably. "You sure?"

_Oh…_

_Heh… it's like the male version of puppy eyes, isn't it?_

Hermione smiled – completely unconsciously – and leant forward to kiss him for a moment or two.

Or three.

Ron grinned at her, a little sheepishly and jovially speared a potato onto his fork – with less projectile results. "Well, I'll see you in a few hours then."

Harry snorted into his pudding.

Hermione smiled to herself as she exited to the hall, ignoring any number of glances in her direction.

_That was rather well done._

_I'm glad McGonagall wasn't watching. I don't need the whole school to hear her reprimand me._

_The whole school probably already knows._

_What?!_

_Oh, please. Pavarti and Lavender will have told everyone. And even if they haven't, a **large** portion of the student body has been waiting for you to date **one** of them for years._

_One of who?!_

_Harry or Ron, obviously._

_Harry?! Ew!_

_I know. But the three of you are so close… it looks different from the outside._

_God. Well I'm glad that got cleared up._

_That kiss probably cost people a few sickles._

_Don't be ridiculous._

_So why didn't you want Ron to walk you down?_

_Because it's an inane practise. I'm perfectly capable of **walking** without the aid of my significant other._

_MmmHmm…_

"Miss Granger. Were you planning on hovering outside the doorway for the entirety of the two hours?"

Hermione's heart made a mad dive for the region of her stomach, and she jerked herself into the classroom, trying to convince herself that there was no way Snape could see through walls.

"No, sir, I…"

He didn't even look up from his work. "You will label the bottles containing black liquid as 'Leech Juice' and the amber, 'Essence of Belladonna.'"

She stared at him. Snape slashed at an assignment with his pen before addressing her as though English were her fifth language. "Miss Granger, the bottles, quill, and labels are on the table to your right."

Hermione inhaled deliberately and moved over without a word, suppressing a fierce swell of disappointment.

_What, you thought he'd use you for something constructive? **Challenge** your **obviously** superior intelligence?_

_I thought maybe… he has to favour the Slytherins in class. He's a double agent for the Order but… no one's watching now._

_Putting you to actual work would involve interaction. Maybe he really **does** hate you._

_What?!_

_Teachers aren't allowed to hate you? You think they're required to like every student who passes through their classroom? Have you seen the colour McGonagall's skin turns when she discusses Malfoy? Is she allowed to hate students like Malfoy, while Snape's not allowed to hate students like you?_

_But… it's Malfoy! He's…_

_Different? Not as smart as you? Maybe Snape isn't impressed by educational devotion and a ready ability to memorise textbooks. He's only obliged to teach you – not to like you. You've already got every other professor – with the notable exception of Trelawney – wrapped round your little finger. If he doesn't value the qualities that you think are important, why do you need him there too?_

_I… _

_This is a detention, Hermione. A **punishment**. You're not supposed to be enjoying yourself – and he knows exactly how to put you through hell. It's working, in case you hadn't noticed._

_Hermione slid listlessly onto the bench behind the table and drew the labels and a quill slowly towards her, swallowing with illogical difficulty._

From the author: I am a terrible, terrible person. The next time I promise to update frequently, please take into account the fact that I am a pathological liar, and that – in all likelihood – I will proceed to abandon this story for another two or three months.

That being said, I will try and have the next chapter ready within a month. Actually. I swear to god.

Really.

Dead Lenore (a Poe fan? I love that poem): I actually only read your review about a week and a half ago, while I was studying for my lit exam. Aside from containing some of the nicest things that anyone has ever said to me, it also provoked me to stop reading Heart of Darkness and write this chapter. Never has procrastination felt so right. Thank you so much. Please, feel free to embarrass yourself in my presence again – whenever you feel the need to. Really. I'm sorry if you had to wish for a tad longer than you might have hoped; the next chapter will arrive sooner, I promise.

Dara Trahan: I also didn't get your e-mail until about a week and a half ago. I really need to start checking it more often. I actually spent a lot of time developing my disclaimer. When I tell people that I write fan fiction, their response generally alternates between condescension and blatant mockery. I think that this genre can amount to more than its reputation allows it to. Thanks so much for your e-mail.


	9. SelfConviction

Chapter 9: Self-Conviction

"Hermione!"

Ron's voice – slightly apprehensive in tone – made her yelp and whirl to face him two feet from Snape's door.

He jogged towards her, looking sheepish. "Sorry."

Hermione felt a surge of irritation threaten to overwhelm her common sense. What was he _doing_ here?

She forced a small smile. "What's up?"

"I… I forgot to tell you something."

Her mood deteriorated – if at all possible; Ron never used that tone of voice to say anything good.

"We…" Ron gulped. "We have our first Prefect's meeting tonight. It's in five minutes…"

"_Ron_!"

"I _forgot_… I'm sorry."

All of the anger and resentment that she'd been wallowing in prior to Ron's uninvited interruption _exploded_ in his direction. "I did NEWT practise papers after classes because I _thought_ I would time to do homework after my detention!"

An expression of total incredulity swept any contrition from his features. "What were you doing NEWT papers for?! We're in _sixth year_!"

"Oh for heaven's _sake_, Ron, NEWTs aren't something you can study for the weekend before."

"It's not the weekend before, it's the _year_ before! You're _mental_."

"I'm _prepared_, which is more than I can say –" On impulse, she stepped forward, hands raising to shove at his shoulders, and opened her mouth to snarl, "For _you_."

But first, she inhaled – and was suddenly made aware of just how close her movement had brought them.

She glared up into Ron's half-angry, half-startled eyes for a fraction of a second – and then their mouths slammed together.

Nice, _Hermione._

She felt incredibly short of breath, but a hormone-driven, suicidal part of her was refusing to let her lips loose contact with his. Her arms, seemingly acting of their own accord, wound themselves about his neck and pulled her body into abrupt contact with his and –

"_Thirty points from Gryffindor._"

Hermione's teeth _snapped_ into Ron's tongue.

Yanking herself out of his arms – _and mouth_ – she stumbled back into the opposite wall – to stare up into Snape's smouldering gaze.

She couldn't concentrate on anything except a fervent wish that Ron could stop breathing so loudly.

Snape turned cold, mocking eyes on her. "Are you so attached to the dungeons, Miss Granger, that you feel the need to utilise their hallways as you would your bedchamber?"

_Oh, **god**. Oh shit, oh shit, shit._

_Whoa… it's okay. He just caught you kissing. It's not **that** big a deal._

_But it's **Snape**. Oh god **dammit**._

Ron had bristled at Snape's words and was visibly restraining himself from launching himself at the man, who, Hermione suddenly noticed – for some _ridiculous _reason – was now only a little more than a foot taller than Ron.

Snape turned with a sneer. "Control yourself, Mr. Weasley, before you embarrass your girlfriend further." His eyes contorted. "Get up to the meeting, both of you, or it will be a round fifty points."

Hermione stumbled away down the hallway without a second glance in Snape's direction. She heard Ron follow a moment later.

He only caught up with her a few feet from the meeting, completely winded.

"_Hermione_!"

She came to a stop, turned to look at him dully, and then buried her face in her hands.

"Where did you learn to run like th…" He trailed off at her reaction and, after a brief hesitation, moved over to pull her into comforting sort of hug.

She sniffed softly and shmushed her nose into his shoulder.

_That was some kiss._

_What was I **thinking**?! In the potions hallway. **God**…_

_Hermione, sweetie, I don't think that **thought** was what motivated that._

Ron pulled her closer, mumbling an inch from her ear. "Hermione… I'm really sorry I forgot to tell you about the meeting."

She sighed softly. "I know… I didn't mean to get so angry. The detention just had me upset …"

Ron pulled back to get a good look at her, expression turning stormy. "What did he make you do?"

"Oh, it's nothing." She elaborated, as he continued to eye her beadily. "Really. I just had to label bottles…"

Ron frowned, deflating slightly. "Oh… well… that's not _too_ horrible."

_I.e. What the hell are you so upset about? He'd have had me scrubbing shit-filled cauldrons for hours. Labels are **nothing**, but I'm trying not to upset you again, so I'm going to pretend to be sympathetic, even though I haven't got a clue why Snape's arduous label operation made you angry enough to –_

_Oh stop it. I don't expect him to understand things like that._

_You don't?_

_Well, no…_

_Even though he's your boyfriend now?_

_That doesn't mean…_

_And even though one might expect a boyfriend to understand things like that?_

_That's not –_

_Really, to be the one person in the whole world to understand almost everything about you–_

_That's **enough**._

"Ron, I –"

"So Miss Perfect_ does _have a weakness after all."

Malfoy's voice sliced between them with the ease of a knife through butter. "Just dangle a penniless numbskull in front of her hormones and she's suddenly late f–"

Ron plunged his hand into his robes, throat producing a strangled yell.

Malfoy followed suit with alacrity, but, to Hermione's intense relief, Flitwick chose that exact moment to trot out of the meeting room and stop both wand-bound hands dead in their tracks.

"You're _late_, children. Really, I expected better; it's the first meeting. Get inside, all of you, we're about to start."

Malfoy eyed her with a libidinous sneer before slinking through the door after him.

Hermione followed, clasping Ron's hand in a death grip to preclude Malfoy's public execution.

_…or Ron's._

_Please. Ron could take Malfoy any day._

_That'd convince **him**, but convincing yourself is going to take a **little** more work._

_Malfoy could **never** beat Ron in a fair fight._

_Malfoy doesn't fight fair. Admit it, you might have faith in Ron's bravery, but you haven't got a clue who would win if it came to a duel._

_…it's just that they'd fight so **differently**._

_You know… if you ever wanted to find out, all you'd have to do is smile at Malfoy the right way._

_What?_

_The way you smiled at Ron in your dormitory a few nights ago. But with a bit more **challenge** to it._

_You've actually gone mental._

_Just because **you** refuse to acknowledge the fact that you grew breasts over the summer, Hermione, it doesn't mean that the boys have._

_Holy god. I'm not listening to this._

_Oh, you've still got a while to go before you **really** start knocking 'em dead, but you're getting there._

_I am **not** "knocking Malfoy dead!"_

_I **know** you're not. But he's **noticed** the fact that you grew up. And he can't **stand** the fact that he's attracted to a filthy little mudblood._

_Don't be –_

_For god's sake, Hermione, if you could get over your insecurities and use them to your **advantage** for a change, you –_

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione jerked her eyes – which had been squinting vaguely at Malfoy – over to Professor Flitwick, who was frowning as though she'd suddenly sprouted tentacles.

She blinked, pulling her mind back to the meeting. "Sorry?"

A few snickers and murmurs punctuated the air.

Flitwick shot her a puzzled frown before speaking in a slightly less severe tone. "Do you know when Professor Snape is planning to end your nightly detentions? We have to arrange the patrol schedules."

Hermione shut eyes momentarily, giving this evening's desolate ambience a chance to overwhelm her completely. "I'm sorry, sir, I have no idea. I can ask him tomorrow, if you'd like…"

Flitwick shook his head tiredly. "No, never mind. We'll just assign you to the later shifts for now."

Hermione cringed and sunk into the depths of her chair.

She didn't resurface until Flitwick pressed a patrol schedule into her hand ten minutes later and murmured, in an unexpectedly kind voice, that she should get some rest. Nodding to him with a tired smile, she let Ron pull her from the room.

His voice sounded hopefully in her ear. "Which shifts did you get?"

She groaned, looking the sheet over. "Eleven o'clock on Wednesdays and Thursdays, twelve o'clock on Sunday, and ten o'clock every second Tuesday. Joy."

A female voice cut into their conversation. "Did you say twelve on Sunday, Hermione?"

"Oh, hey Ginny. And, yeah I did, why?"

"Me too." The newly elected fifth-year prefect grinned.

Her brother did not. Ron was glowering at their schedules. "I don't have a single shift with you! And," he made a snarling sound, "You've got one with _Malfoy_."

Ginny rolled her eyes before shooting Hermione an impish smile and setting off down the corridor.

Ron was still in full rant. "…and your _other _two are with Anthony Goldstein. Why are all of your partners _boys_?!"

Hermione tried, without much success, to stop her eyes from rolling and proceeded to pluck Ron's schedule neatly from one of his flailing hands.

"Ron."

"Yes?"

"You've got a twelve o'clock with Padma Patil."

His arms came to a dead stop. "…yeah?"

"You went to the Yule Ball with Padma Patil."

"Hermione, you sound like Luna –"

"Do I look even slightly concerned about the fact that you have a shift with Padma?"

"Well, no, but…"

"And did I go to the Yule Ball with any of those boys?"

Ron's eyes flashed. "No, you went with bloody Kru –" Hermione tilted her head in a menacing sort of way, and he amended quickly. "But… really… if I hadn't… if _he _hadn't… well… that's not the _point_. It's _different_, you patrolling with _guys_."

Hermione had had enough. She rounded on her fuming boyfriend.

"Ron, do you remember when I said that you were jealous of my relationship with Victor?"

"_What_ does this have to do with –"

"_Ron_."

"…yes."

"You were wrong then, and you're wrong now."

"_Hermione!_"

"Ron, do you trust me?"

"Of _course_ I trust you. That's not the –"

…

"Do you plan on kissing me every time I annoy you?"

"Do _you_ plan on kissing _me_ every time _I _annoy _you_?"

Ron smiled. "Hermione?"

"Yes?"

His voice rose in a very bad imitation of hers. "You've got dirt on your nose, did you kno–"

From the author: I was at camp, but now am back and getting ready for my first year of university. Which means I'm both busy and terrified. Once I'm settled in, though, you'll be seeing updates more frequently. Sorry I've kept you waiting this long!

Dead Lenore: I don't deserve a reviewer like you. Especially when I don't update for over two months. In gratitude, a bit of information: (1) This fic might not stay completely "lighthearted." And, (2) about Ron, I'm trying to keep him as IC as possible; he's thought being in a relationship through very thouroughly, but when things stop going "as he planned," you might see a bit more of the characteristics you don't like in him. Also, Hermione"s inner dialogue is actually easier for me write; it moves the story along quickly - you might have noticed that I progresses SLOWLY otherwise - but I think I've neglected character description in doing so, so I tried to include both in this chapter. I hope it works alright. In any case, thank you, thank you, thank you. Again. (_is going to a comic book store after this_)

Artemis MoonClaw: (_bites lip_) Is that good or bad?


	10. Punitive Measures

Chapter 10: Punitive Measures

_Potter_.

Slowly, Snape clenched his fist around the test paper, listening furiously to its small, crumpling sounds.

He'd _passed_.

Or, rather, Hermione Granger had passed - and shown him how.

And Weasley.

He compressed the paper resentfully against his desk. One of the only classes he'd ever enjoyed educating, and now, only two weeks later, Harry Potter was a part of it.

_Two weeks_.

Snape had resigned himself to the fact that Granger would be there – she was, when she managed to forgo class participation, unquestionably the least irritating Gryffindor sixth-year. And, Granger aside, the class had been composed of conscientious and studious Slytherin-cum-Ravenclaws and one or two particularly stout Hufflepuffs.

They'd been quiet, they'd followed instructions flawlessly, they'd completed incisive, intelligent essays _on time_, and they hadn't exploded _one_ cauldron.

And now Potter and Weasley were coming.

Bulls charging at a china shop.

* * *

Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini shot Snape looks of immediate, sheer dissatisfaction as the dream team, Granger at their heels, ambled in. Potter and Weasley, ever-oblivious to all things subtle, were, inevitably, demonstrating none of the constraint that _normal_, self-conscious students would if joining an advanced class two weeks behind schedule. 

And, to Snape's immense pleasure, they proceeded to clamber into neighboring seats, heedless of Granger's frantic signals not to do so.

"_Potter_. _Weasley_. Are you blind?"

The pair looked up. Dumbly.

"Has it somehow escaped your notice that _every student in this classroom_ is seated at a separate table?" Weasley, affronted, opened his mouth to speak, but Snape intercepted him. "Are you under the impression that, having coerced your way into this class, you now deserve special treatment?"

Potter's eyes were ablaze. More so than usual. "We were under the _impression_ that you'd tested us. Fairly. _Professor_."

_That little-_

_**Stay calm**..._

"The only reason that you are in this class, Potter," _don't let him get to you_, "is that _most_ of this school's faculty is - for some _insensible_ reason - still wrapped around your little finger."

_Or get into a pissing contest with a 16-year-old boy. In front of the only class you care about. Whatever floats your boat_.

There was a new, particularly nasty emotion sparkling in those green eyes. "_Jealous_?"

A wave of shock reduced Snape's boiling anger to a simmer as the class developed whole new degrees of stillness.

_I **knew** it. I knew he liked it. He's just like his father. Just like-_

_You're **raving**. That's not the face of a boy basking in fame. He wants to hurt you so badly that he's damaging his own reputation._

_**Good**._

Snape slid closer to Potter, laughing in a way that had Nott and Zabini exchanging covert expressions of apprehension. "Trust and respect must be rightfully _earned_, Potter. A concept that you will _quite_ obviously _never_ understand."

_What are you **doing**?Think about what he could say in response to that._

_Let him clean up his own mess. Let him **try**. Without every single adult at this school stumbling to his rescue._

_**He's** not the one who'll need to clean, Severus._

To Snape's peripheral surprise, Potter responded with laughter and a tone of voice that landed in the air like a gob of spit. "If Dumbledore _trusts_ and _respects_ you so much, why's he turned you down for the Defense Against the Dark Arts job _every single time_ that you've applied for it?"

A deafening silence struck the classroom.

_**Severus**. Put an end to it. This conversation is getting **far** too hazardous._

Snape's voice came out paper-thin. "One hundred points from Gryffindor. You will address your professors with respect, Potter. Regardless of the subject they have been appointed to teach."

Potter's eyes flashed with something very near satisfaction. Granger looked to be having a small fit, and Weasley was staring at his friend, jaw a-hang, an expression of complete and utter shock on his face.

"One of you. _Move_. Unless Mr. Weasley is incapable of _existing_ without your company, Potter."

It never ceased to amaze Snape how easily Weasley reacted to those comments, and Granger looked too frightened to perform any of her usual mollifications. Potter didn't spare a glance for either of his friends. He stood and moved slowly towards a nearby table, eyes not straying from Snape's face.

Snape flicked his wand at the board and instructions appeared upon its surface. "Get to work."

It was Ernie Macmillan who, finally, sensing that no one else was going to speak, finally raised his hand.

_Funny. I'd have expected Granger._

_If I'd even exchanged idle platitudes with Potter – once – from this moment forward, I'd avoid you for months. She's one of his best friends._

"_Yes_?"

"Professor... I... rather… the class was under the impression... weren't we going to be working on the Adgravesco potion today?"

"My instructions indicate otherwise, Macmillan."

Zabini and Nott began work immediately. Macmillan swallowed convulsively and continued. "I'm sorry, Professor... it's just that you'd indicated that we wouldn't be working on Veritaserum until the end of seventh yea-"

"This is a _pre-NEWT class_, Macmillan. Are you implying that you have a problem with the way that I am preparing you for your exams?"

Ernie Macmillan blanched, stuttered a negation, and all but attacked his ingredients.

Snape exhaled softly, lowered himself into his chair, and drilled his gaze into the surface of his desk, breathing slowly.

_**That** was petty._

_Don't you start with me. Not now. He thinks he's won. Just let him start that fight again. Sometime when we're not in front of a dungeon full of eavesdropping Death Eater spawn. He thinks that Dumbledore's taking a **risk** with me? He thinks that he's more **intuitive** than the only wizard that Voldemort ever feared? That he can **see** things that Dumbledore can't? **Look** at him. He thinks he **outwitted** me. He thinks I ended it because I couldn't defend myself._

_Yes, yes, "The things that you could tell him." I'm aware. But you didn't. Because you're an adult and you know the risks associated with trumpeting the facts of Dumbledore's trust in you to the general student populace._

_He'll never understand. His **arrogance**, his incredible-_

_**Ignorance**, his **juvenility**. Congratulations, Severus. You've once again proved that you're more mature than a teenaged boy. You must be so proud._

_**Shut up**._

_Come on. You think you deserve that kind of recognition? Do you really need Potter to know **exactly what you go through**? Exactly what it is you do for Dumbledore? Exactly why it is that the headmaster trusts you?_

_No... I gave up that right long ago._

_Precisely. You need to get over this. You can't keep letting him get to you. I know how much he seems like-_

_I **know** what my problem is. I don't need you constantly connecting the dots for me!_

_Then **solve** it. Look, you've already wasted half of this class with this pathetic inner conflict. You could at least do something productive. Figure out the mystery of Miss Granger's _denicalis _spell._

_Ah. Hermione Granger. Genius. My nerves are instantly soothed._

_Severus..._

_I've spent the past five days scouring the library for information on an alternate funesto reversal charms. They don't exist._

_Research _denicalis_ then. You don't know it inside and out; maybe there's a little-known detail somewhere that you missed. You know Dumbledore's expecting an explanation._

_He didn't ask me to conduct a full-fledged **investigation**._

_Technically? No. But if you want to avoid his not-so-subtle mealtime hints, you're either going to have to go on a hunger strike, or solve the problem._

Dumbledore's voice had first intruded upon his breakfast on Wednesday morning:

"Do you know, Severus, I never really take the time to appreciate just how beautiful wands are."

Snape grunted his acknowledgement, not raising his eyes from his plate.

"Look at Miss Granger, for example. _Perfect_ wrist movements. Technique like that can turn spell casting into an art."

Severus slowly raised his eyes in a glare that would have made men who weren't Albus Dumbledore fidget uncomfortably.

"Beautiful wand, too. Vine wood, isn't Severus?" He was actually waiting for a response.

"...yes."

Dumbledore chuckled and then continued. "You took a fair risk casting that charm on it; our laws are extremely strict where intentional wand damage is concerned."

Snape's gaze shot towards Granger, who was helping Potter Weasley with his Charms homework. "It seems to have made a full recovery."

"I am forever impressed by your perception, Severus. I would **never** have guessed that Miss Granger had capacity to reverse that particular spell."

Snape froze and turned slowly back to the Headmaster.

"Ah. I see. You were under the impression that I'd cast denicalis for her." He smiled, slightly. "No, I... I can't anymore."

* * *

Snape was still completely immersed in his research when Granger arrived for her nightly detention. 

With her usual two minutes to spare.

Having run out of unlabeled bottles, he was now alternating between assigning her custodial work and having her prepare the first and second-year's ingredients for the next days' classes. She'd looked on verge of tears when Snape had informed her, a few nights ago, that he had accidentally combined powdered bicorn horn and asphodel root and that she would have to sift the mixture through a charmed sieve approximately seventy times to ensure that the substances were completely separated.

Tonight he was having her scrub out a cauldron encrusted with horned toad bowels.

Interestingly, for the first time since her detentions had started, after he'd given her his instructions, she moved to her usual table sporting a resigned rather than stricken expression.

_Can it be that she's finally developed the ability to exercise some form of control over her facial features?_

_It's more likely that she's too angry about that stunt you pulled in class today to broadcast any other sort of emotion._

_I hate Gryffindors._

_Really? I hadn't noticed. At least she's quiet._

_For now. When she, inevitably, overcomes her trepidation, she'll probably ask me for NEWT help._

_Well. At least it's genuine interest._

_Granger would be genuinely interested in eating **slugs** if it would guarantee her higher NEWT score._

_You have a point. Still, it doesn't mean that she doesn't enjoy potions._

_Of **course** she doesn't enjoy Potions. **I** teach it._

_I was talking about the subject matter, not the class._

_Well you don't know that she **does** enjoy it, either. Shut up and let me get back to researching her._

_You're remarkably calm at the moment, you know. It's amazing how good your control is when The Boy Who Lived isn't around._

_Well, in my line of work, anger isn't something I can afford to loose control over._

_I shudder to think of the effect on your acting skills if Harry Potter were to arrive on scene while you were duping the Dark Lord._

_Well, lucky for me – and all present – he won't._

* * *

From the author: Again, I find that I have lied. I've simply decided to note that, in all probability, none of my stories will ever receive anything resembling punctual updates. If anyone is still following this, just keep your fingers crossed and hope for the best. But rest assured that I won't abandon anything I start.

* * *

HBP SPOILER AHEAD

* * *

That being said, when I finished Book 6, I almost did decide to leave this fic unfinished; I felt incredibly... sullied for having ever given Snape one kind thought. But I've decided to make this AU and see where it takes me. And, incidentally, having given the issue Post-Sullied Feeling thought, I still don't know, as of yet, where I stand in the "Is Snape Really Evil?" debate.

* * *

HBP SPOILER BEHIND

* * *

Dead Lenore: I'm not sure that this update qualifies as "lighthearted" exactly, but I hope you like it! And the next chapter should be a little better. Also, not that my word means ANYTHING, but, having read HBP, I'm now in an extremely Harry Potter-related mood, so should be getting back to it a bit more. 

I'm also _so_ glad that you're warming to Won-Won. I hate it when Snape-involved fics portray him as this black-and-white, two-dimensional moron. And yes, Hermione's mind _does_ wander. It should be going in some interesting directions soon.

Lirael: Your wish is my command. Thanks very much for the review.


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